


act one, scene two; fuck you

by haroldslouis



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Coming of Age, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, Love/Hate, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haroldslouis/pseuds/haroldslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>“Why did you wish me milder? would you have me</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>False to my nature? Rather say I play</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>The man I am.” </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>or the one where Isco is the promising theatre kid, Toni is the new drama teacher, Cristiano and Leo may or may not be rivals-with-benefits, and Shakespeare is just too damn gay, man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isco

“Isco, honey, you’re going to be late!” his mother yells from the bottom step of the stairs. “I will not have you start your senior year this way. Come eat your sandwich before school!”

Isco sighs, all but wrapping himself up in his blanket and rolling out of his bed. As he presses his cheek to the cool wooden floorboard, he figures he prefers lying on the floor to going to school again. He can hear his mother moving downstairs, probably making sure he still has a pair of compatible shoes lying around.

It takes a burst of optimism and finality to push himself to his feet and into the bathroom. He blinks at his sleepy reflection, dipping his fingers in the Extra Large Pot of Gel he got from Cristiano, when his best friend got sick of him always stealing his. Personally, Isco believes his hair has always had some sort of vendetta against him, but instead of _consistently_ refusing to cooperate, it decides to do something even more evil – never cooperating on _exactly_ the days he needs it most. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t explicitly care about high school, or even senior year for that matter, but damn it if he doesn’t want to look remotely acceptable on the first day after summer break.

It eventually takes him five minutes to accept the fact that his hair isn’t going to get any better, and another ten minutes to dress in bleached jean shorts and a grey V-neck t-shirt. He trudges his way down the stairs, making his presence known by dropping his backpack on the kitchen island. Sliding into one of the chairs, he takes a bite from his sandwich. As he chews, he stuffs his water bottle and lunch for the day in his bag and zips it up.

“I really don’t feel like going to school today. Is it too soon to call in sick this year, because I don’t think so,” he says around a bite as his mother comes walking into the kitchen, dropping his Converse at his feet.

“Was it naïve of me to think that you might actually behave like a relatively grown-up seventeen-year-old now that it’s your final year? Maybe it was,” his mother deflects, ruffling up his hair affectionately. He doesn’t even bother trying to fix it, nothing could make it look worse, anyway.

He’s just in the middle of a sassy reply when a car stops right outside, honking loudly. Isco looks up, catching sight of Cristiano behind the wheel.

“Gotta go.” He stuffs the crust of his sandwich in his mouth, chewing hastily as he tugs his shoes onto his feet. Stumbling out of the door, he gives his mother a brief kiss on her cheek and shouts his affections when she throws his forgotten backpack at him.

The flash of Cristiano’s camera greets him as he turns around in the passenger seat, closing the door behind himself.

“What was that for?” he asks, tugging the seatbelt around his body and flinging his backpack in the back seat.

“I was thinking about documenting our senior year,” Cristiano says, checking the result on the small display of his camera. “And because you’re my best friend, you will probably feature on more than half of the pictures.”

Isco raises his eyebrows at Cristiano’s pointed expression. “So?”

“So, you might want to rethink your hairstyle. Unless you want to look like this in the next thousand pictures?”

Angling the camera, Isco looks at the photo and groans. “Goodbye, tiny shred of self-confidence that was miraculously built up in the time you didn’t have a supermodel as your best friend. We’ve had a good run, but it’s impossible to continue our relationship.”

He looks up, catching Cristiano’s expression. “You done?” his friend asks him.

“Hey, it’s the first day. I’m allowed to be a little melodramatic.”

“A little?” Cristiano grins, bringing the car in motion and driving out of the cul-de-sac. “I haven’t seen you this dramatic before, and that’s including your performance of Mercutio last year.”

“ _’A plague on both your houses!’_ ” Isco imitates, his hands grabbing at his side to imitate the pain of a stab wound. “Man, that was one Oscar worthy performance.”

“It was your best so far,” Cristiano agrees. “Think you’ll be the lead this year? It’s your last shot, man. You gotta make it count.”

Isco shrugs. “I don’t know, I think Piqué has pictured me forever as the friend-zoned best friend of the lead. If that isn’t a tragedy in and of itself, I don’t know what is.”

“You never know, maybe this year you’ll get the lead. Any news yet on which play you will be doing?”

“It’s probably going to be some sort of re-enactment of one of the classical fairy tales. Maybe I get to play the disgusting prince in Sleeping Beauty, while James gets to take off with the beautiful princess again. Seriously! I thought nowadays we theatre people are supposed to be against stereotypical casting? Casting James as Prince Charming is more stereotypical than casting a blue-eyed, blonde haired white boy as Captain America. What is it, am I not Prince Charming material?”

Isco will forever refuse to admit that he’s whining – but, yeah, he’s whining.

Cristiano just snickers, shaking his head fondly as he turns the last corner. Their school appears, looking exactly the same as it did two months before. The flag with the school colours flutters weakly in the wind, as if it’s not ready to start up again either.

“Well?” Isco asks, when Cristiano fails to answer his question.

“I’m trying to drive, bro,” Cristiano mutters, searching for a parking spot. “But if you really want to know, I think you’re perfect Prince Charming material. You’re a good actor and you’d be able to pull it off. But I don’t think you should be hoping for the part of Prince Charming, it’s a part everyone can pull off. I think you should hope for a more challenging play, with some actual human-like characters.”

Isco hums, twisting in his seat to grab his bag from the backseat. “You know what,” he says, turning back again, “I think you’re right. I deserve a good part in what will probably be my last play ever, and if Piqué is going to make me do a shitty role again I’ll demand off with his head.”

“Attaboy,” Cristiano grins. “Now, do you promise you won’t start wailing in theatre-speech the second we cross the front doors of school? I know you’re my best friend and all, but as star player of the football team I really can’t be seen with the village idiot.”

“Oh, shut up,” Isco laughs, playfully poking his joking friend in the side. “I’m always on my best behaviour around you, you know? We wouldn’t want Messi to think each one of your friends is uncool. He already thinks that of Luka and there is nothing we can do about that.”

Cristiano gets out of the car but Isco catches the pinched expression on his friend’s face. He pushes the door open and gets out as well, walking next to Cristiano to the front steps of this school.

“Like I care what that little weasel thinks of my friends,” Cristiano huffs, hitching his Nike satchel onto his shoulder.

“You do, though,” Isco teases, erupting into laughter when Cristiano sends him a glare. “Oh, get over it. There are guys on the other schools’ football teams who would kill for either of you; but both of you are here. He’s just as good for the team as you are.”

“The other teams can have him for all I care.” Cristiano has his expression schooled into the stern indifference he always portrays when someone mentions Leo. Apparently, after fourth grade it wasn’t accepted anymore that he went into a furious rant whenever someone so much as mentioned the other footballer.

“Aw, look who’s trying not to care,” Isco cooes, nudging Cristiano with his elbow. They walk up to the wide open entrance. He clears his throat, solemnly announcing, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!”

Cristiano rolls his eyes. “Nerd.”

“Jock.”

The bell rings loudly; surely making everyone within a one mile radius cringe with horror high school flashbacks.

“I’ll see you after second period,” Cristiano says, cracking a smile again and giving Isco a brief hug. “I’ll spend my time in French class praying to God for a decent play for you this year.”

“Much appreciated,” Isco grins. “See you later.”

They both walk into different directions, throwing weird faces and middle fingers to each other over their shoulders.

-

The windows of the classroom are tipped open, letting the end-of-the-summer breeze flutter the pages of the brightly coloured notebooks on the desks. A can of Dr. Pepper is cracked open, the condensation forming a wet ring on the wood as it’s set back down again. The second bell rings sharply, followed by a loud slamming of locker doors being thrown into their locks again.

Isco lifts his head from where it was lying in the crook of his elbow for the last two minutes and he reaches out his foot to poke Nacho in the shin. The other boy is busy getting out his Iron Man covered day planner, while stuffing a peanut butter sandwich in his mouth.

“Nacho,” Isco says, when his classmate doesn’t turn towards him. “Can I have a pen and paper?”

“Why?” Nacho asks, taking out his notebook and flipping it open. “Don’t you have your own stuff?”

Isco nods. “I do, yeah, but I left it all at home. I had some troubles waking up, you know how it is with me. So, please?”

Before Nacho can answer, the door of the classroom is thrown shut, the gush of air sending a few loose pages flying off of some of the desks.

Isco looks up at the teacher; whom he doesn’t recognise. He immediately frowns, having expected his usual drama teacher Piqué. The man who walks to the front of the classroom seems like a total opposite of the flamboyant – and stereotypical casting director –  Mr. Piqué. This guy’s hair is blond, his skin even lighter. He’s dressed in a dark blue button-down with grey jeans, and Isco wonders how the hell he isn’t sweating out of his clothes.

The other students in the class also look upon silently as the new teacher takes a laptop out of his worn brown leather bag, slowly setting it on the desk. He then takes a marker out of one of the front pockets of the bag and walks towards the whiteboard. _Toni Kroos_ , he scribbles down in such an atrocious handwriting it reminds Isco of cuneiform.

The teacher turns back towards the class, smiling. “Good morning everyone. I hope all of you have had a nice summer break. As you can see, I am not your usual drama teacher, obviously. Mr. Piqué got an offer to give flamenco lessons at some prestigious school in New York, and that is why you guys will be stuck with me in your final year.”

 _And I don’t fucking mind_ , Isco’s mind happily contributes. The new teacher is fit. Like, actually _fit_. His shoulders and chest fill out the button-down in all the right places and the grey jeans cling to his calves. Isco is already gone for him.

“Perhaps some of you can tell that I have a slight accent,” the voice interrupts Isco’s thoughts, which were going to unholy places, “That’s because I was born in Germany and the past three years I have been teaching at the University of Music and Theatre in Leipzig. I am not married, I drive a soccer-mom station wagon – of which I am very proud, mind you – and I have a cat called Rudi. Any questions so far?”

Maria raises her hand. “Why would you want to come here when you could teach at such a good university?”

 _Because his soul was drawn to mine_. Isco begins to understand why Cristiano calls him dramatic.

“Of course, good question. Well, back in Germany I was at that time in my life when you’re nearly twenty-four and you’re stuck in the everyday going of things. And I don’t strive to be like that before my forties, so that is why I quit. I will spend this year with you guys, using this time to work out a masterpiece for the end-of-the-year fundraiser and to get used to the States again. And after this year I plan to start acting again myself. Does this answer your question?”

Maria nods, and Nacho raises his hand. “You’re only twenty-four?” he asks, incredulously.

“Yes, and that is why I would prefer that you, this class, call me by my first name. The mirror already makes sure I feel horribly old sometimes and I don’t need a group of teenagers to contribute to that,” Toni grins, sitting on the corner of the desk. “Any other questions? No? Okay, then I suggest you take out your textbook. We won’t be using it a lot, just until the first test week. After that, all your grades from this subject will depend on your preparation and performance of your individual role.”

“No tests?” Lucas whispers, sitting behind Isco. “Sign me the fuck _up_.”

Isco grins, nodding. He leans over to Nacho, who tears a blank page out of his notebook for him and also hands him a pen.

“Everyone settled?” Toni asks, using the wiper to wipe out his name from the whiteboard.

“Which play are we going to perform?” asks someone from the back of the class.

“We’ll be showcasing the play of _Coriolanus_ , by Shakespeare. Information on the roles, the preparation and the auditions will all be sent to you by e-mail, as we only have a limited time span. I’d like to start the auditions soon, so we can start on our rehearsals as soon as possible. But for now, please open your books at page eight,” Toni says, flipping his own textbook open.

Isco grabs his backpack from the floor, and a quick inspection of the contents confirm his thoughts. He also forgot his book. He looks back up at Mr. Kroos, what kind of name is _Toni_ , anyway, and considers his options. He could a) go to the front of the class and make a horrible first impression as a forgettable and uninterested, annoying twit (which he is, but he’d rather Mr. Kroos finds out after Isco gets his leading role in _Coriolanus_ ), or b) slide his table over to Nacho and share his book, or c) do nothing and hope Mr. Kroos doesn’t notice. After a brief contemplation with the voices in his head, he chooses C.

Drawing a quick doodle of Cristiano in the top corner of this paper, he absentmindedly catches the words Mr. Kroos is saying from the front of the classroom. Apparently senior year is another year in which they will be whacked over their heads with alliteration. Isco personally hates alliteration because they make his tongue twist and he hates stuttering on stage.

He’s too busy drawing the buttons on doodle-Cristiano’s shirt to notice someone standing next to his desk.

“I believe Art is two classrooms down the hall.”

Isco looks up, right in the disapproving eyes of Mr. Kroos.

“Um,” he says intelligently.

“I assume talking about alliteration is not interesting for you? As you’ve not even taken the effort to get your book out of your bag,” Mr. Kroos says, staring disapprovingly at the obscene drawing which Jesé made with white correction fluid on Isco’s backpack.

“On the contrary, _talking_ about alliteration gets me so hyped that I just forwent the whole bringing-your-book-to-school thing,” Isco says, folding his hands on the table top and giving Mr. Kroos his best Goody Two-Shoes smile.

Mr. Kroos doesn’t look impressed. “You forgot your book on your first day?”

“And my notebooks and pens,” Isco helpfully adds.

“Okay. Name?”

“Francisco Alarcón. But my friends call me Isco. My mom does too, though, and she’s not my friend. I guess everyone calls me Isco, except people I don’t know, so—”

“Alright, _Isco_. See me after your last class of the day, please. For now  you can use my book and work together with Nacho.”

Mr. Kroos makes sure to put some unnecessary obnoxious emphasis on his name, _rude_. But Isco says nothing and picks up the book Mr. Kroos hands to him.

He noisily slides his chair and table over to Nacho, smiling at Mr. Kroos when he looks up at the piercing sound. Opening the book, he notices that his teacher has barely left any white margin untouched, the spaces filled with small scribblings in German.

“You just couldn’t bear it to not make a fantastic first impression, could you?” Nacho whispers, his upper lip curling up in amusement.

“It’s not like I knew we’d have a new teacher. Piqué never cared whether you brought your shit to class or not.”

Isco leans over to Nacho’s side and copies some of his notes onto his own piece of paper. He listens to Mr. Kroos and God, even with his sexy accented voice alliteration is still the most boring thing ever. He should be punished for even starting his first lesson like this.

Isco nudges Nacho and points at his friend’s grey pencil. Nacho hands it to him and turns back to his own notebook. Sliding Mr. Kroos’ book down, Isco bends over it and quickly draws a dickbutt caricature in the top corner of the page.

Nacho’s eyes grow wide when he sees and he gestures frantically for Isco to erase it.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring my eraser today,” Isco says, flipping the page and pretending to look very invested in the reading.

“You’re going to get in so much shit over this,” Nacho sighs, drawing a gravestone with _RIP Isco’s Prospects in the World of Drama_ written on it. The drawing is ugly as fuck so Isco gives it an F.

-

After having made sure to close the book before dropping it onto Mr. Kroos’ desk, Isco sits through another equally boring hour of biology. Fuck the person who made him believe biology would involve cutting up eyeballs every lesson. It is quite possibly one of the biggest disappointments of his academic career, after that year he featured as the stand-in for the tree in Alice in Wonderland.

When he arrives in the cafeteria, it’s like the summer break never happened and everyone just went on a long weekend. The same people sporting the same haircuts sitting in the same groups. Tragic.

Isco takes a bite from his muffin, balancing his tray on one hand as he makes his way over towards the table where his friends are sitting. Cristiano is already sporting a major bitch face, which promises good things.

He slides into his seat, blowing a kissy face at James, who is buried in his books and wearing earphones.

“How does he have homework already?” Isco pulls a face.

“He thought getting into another AP class was a smart plan,” Luka informs him, warily eyeing his own sandwich.

Isco leans over the table. “James. You’re going to get yourself a burnout before you’re twenty, you’re a mess.”

“Nothing much, just stayed at home with my parents,” James answers in a monotone voice, not taking his eyes off of the page he’s reading.

“Someone save him,” Isco sighs, leaning back in his chair. He looks at Cristiano, who is angrily stabbing at his lasagne. “What’s up with you?”

That seems enough to open the floodgates, as Cristiano embarks on an epic rant on how Messi made team captain this year while Cristiano was better than him at _everything_. It’s only from his point of view of course, but as his best friend Isco is obliged to agree with him. Especially when it concerns Messi.

“That sucks man, I know you worked hard for it,” he says, patting Cristiano’s wrist soothingly. Truly, the lasagne is suffering more than it deserves.

“You should’ve seen the smug look he gave me!” Cristiano spits, “Fucking asshole. I wanted to punch it straight off of his face, but as _Second_ Captain, I figured it wouldn’t be becoming to fight with your teammate on the first day.”

“That’s true. Maybe you could punch him somewhere between October and November, people will be too focused on the winter formal to notice,” Isco adds.

“Who is punching who?” Jesé asks, dropping down into his seat.

“Cristiano is punching Messi, but we’re still deciding the right time frame.”

“Right, I heard he made captain this year. He volunteered as coach this summer at a kids’ team, apparently he did really well.”

“Fuck off,” Cristiano says, standing up, “I’m getting cheese sticks.”

Jesé looks confused at Cristiano’s retreating back. “Is just the mere mentioning of Messi’s name too much for Cris nowadays? I thought we were making progress last year, guys.”

Isco scoffs. “Yeah right, as if there will ever be any way those two can communicate normally outside of the practice drills and the game. That chance is as big as me getting the lead in _Coriolanus_ , so take from that what you will.”

“Shame,” Jesé shrugs. “They pair up so beautifully on the field, it’s insane to think they don’t even know each other outside of it.”

“I’m sorry, did you not hear my deflection at the end there? You should talk about my troubles in the drama world now. I’m sad, too.”

Nacho sighs. “I’m pretty sure your own behaviour towards the teachers creates your sadness.”

Isco frowns. “That’s an absurd idea, Nacho.”

-

In third period, Isco’s brain sort of wakes up and he works together with Luka to make an outline for their presentation. Economics isn’t his favorite subject, but giving presentations is the closest thing he comes to acting, so he’ll take it. Luka is already abusing his lower lip with his teeth at the mere thought of standing in front of the classroom, so Isco decided to help his friend out. That way, no one will accuse him of stealing anyone’s thunder, because let’s be real, Luka in front of a classroom has no thunder to steal.

But as his first day is drawing to a close, the _Report to German Killjoy_ written on his hand gets smudged. Isco spends his last period writing down a list of absolutely horrible things he’d rather be doing after school and then slides the paper with sixty-nine (he, he) options over to Cristiano. His friend helpfully adds number seventy; _Spending ten minutes in Messi’s vicinity._

If he didn’t know Cristiano as well as he did, he’d tell his friend that he’s talking an awful lot about a certain boy and maybe he’s having a little crush? Thank God he does know Cristiano, because saying something like that could most definitely result into a few bruised ribs.

-

Apparently Mr Kroos already has his own office. Fucking over-achiever, Isco thinks disdainfully as he drags himself to the left wing of the school. He passes Mrs. Roccuzzo and gives her the most happy smile he can muster, because the student guidance counsellor always asks him if he’s having problems at home or if he’s angry when he looks neutral at her. Cristiano’s bitch face is starting to wear off onto him.

He spends a good thirty seconds staring at the nameplate next to the door, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the wood.

“Come in.”

He opens the door and steps inside. “You wanted to see me?” he asks, closing the door and leaning against it.

Mr. Kroos is sitting behind his desk, his laptop in front of him and the Drama textbook flipped open next to it. The tiny dickbutt in the top corner is staring at Isco.

“Can you tell me what this is, Isco?” Mr. Kroos asks, taking his eyes off of his laptop screen and looking at Isco. “And don’t just stand there, sit down.” He gestures at the two chairs in front of his desk.

“I was doodling a mini Cristiano but then I needed my paper to copy the notes, so your book was just next in line for some Isco magic,” Isco shrugs, sinking down in one of the chairs.

“Please never say Isco magic again,” Mr. Kroos deadpans. “And cut it with the whole I-can’t-care-less attitude. I asked Mr. Piqué about you and he said that you have always given more than hundred percent for drama class, even if you didn’t get the biggest parts. I hope my arrival will not put a stop to that positive attitude. However, your behaviour today is making me believe that you’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

“It’s just the first day,” Isco objects. “Just because I was having some fun doesn’t mean that I don’t accept your authority or anything. This is just who I am, give me a week and I’ll be annoying within the rules and restrictions of the school.”

Isco thinks he sees the corner of Mr. Kroos’ lips flick upwards for a second.

“So within a week you’ll have your textbooks and notebooks with you, and you’ll refrain from childish and obscene doodling?”

“I only draw when I’m bored and when I have to sit still, so I won’t draw if you’ll keep my hands busy.” Okay, he regrets that choice of wording as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

Apparently Mr. Kroos picked up on the innuendo as well, as his cheeks flush slightly. Isco likes the pink color on his otherwise pale, porcelain like skin.

“I will try to, erm, keep you occupied with enough tasks throughout this year, Isco. But it’s your senior year, and it’s your own responsibility to make something of it. So if you want to get the lead in _Coriolanus_ , this is not the right road to go down. From what I have heard and read about you, you’re a bright kid and you might just exceed your own expectations if you really put your heart into it.”

Isco resists the urge to roll his eyes, even though it seems Mr. Kroos really means what he’s saying. He is right, too. He does want that leading role more than anything this year, even if it’s just to spite Mr. Piqué. But he knows that’s not even half of the reason why he really wants it. So, he gets over his pride, and says: “You’re right, Mr. Kroos. I won’t draw in class anymore, even if I have a really tasteful and non-explicit inspiration.”

Mr. Kroos nods. “That’s enough for me, Isco. I contemplated sending you to detention but I believe Mr. Ramos is not back from his vacation yet.”

“Sergio is my friend, so sending me to detention wouldn’t be such a hardship. I end up going there after school anyway.”

Great. Super fucking smart of him to tell Mr. Kroos in advance that he’ll have to come up with more severe punishments.

“I guess it’s no surprise you make friends easily,” Mr. Kroos smiles, a little absently. “Well, I guess you can go now. Just know that I want my warnings to be taken seriously.”

“Noted. Thank you, Mr. Kroos,” Isco says, getting up out of his chair and walking towards the door.

“Oh, Isco,” Mr. Kroos calls after him.

“Yeah?” he turns back around.

Mr. Kroos smiles. “You know you can call me Toni, right?”

Isco shrugs. “Blurring the lines between authority and buddies isn’t a good plan in this case, I think. After all, you’re not my detention teacher.”

“I want you to, so if you call me Toni, occasionally I might overlook your doodling in class.”

Isco grins. “That’s more like it. See you Wednesday, Toni.” He throws a peace sign over his shoulder before leaving the office.

“Close the door?” Toni calls after him.

“Can’t hear you! I’m mentally making my homework planning, all part of the new me!” he shouts back down the hall.


	2. Cristiano

The locker room is still empty when Cristiano arrives. It doesn’t bother him, he is usually the first one there. He likes to do his own warm-up routine before the general warming-up, because it makes him feel more alert. The fluorescent tubes flicker for a few seconds after Cristiano flips the light switch. He goes through his whole routine of dressing in his gear, making sure his towel is on the metal rack above his head so Jesé can’t reach to steal it.

He is just finishing lacing up his cleats when he hears the door of the dressing room open. He lifts his head, hearing the door closing with a loud bang. When Messi comes around the corner, he drops his eyes back to where his fingers are tugging on his shoes.

“Early as always,” Messi says, dropping down onto the worn bench across from him. He throws his large duffel bag onto the tiles, zipping it open.

Cristiano just hums, standing up from the bench and grabbing his jacket from one of the hooks on the wall. He stares at the end of the wooden bench, looking at the indentations and marks in the wood.

_It had happened after the last game of the season, which had ended in a 2-1 win over Gridley High. He felt so worked up after missing so many chances, but he managed to hit the winning goal against the back of the net which made the tension flow out of his body instantly. The team had quickly showered and filed out of the dressing room, in order to start celebrating the win in the cafeteria. He, however, had been otherwise occupied. He remembers the cool wood against his bare back as he’d laid on the bench, his fingers tangling in the short hair of the head between his legs. He’d still been wearing his shoes, and the metal studs had been digging into the wood of the bench, carving away pieces of wood. It had been the best blowjob he’d ever gotten and it had been only the start of something much—_

He snaps out of his thoughts by the noise Messi’s making. He tears his eyes away from the bench and pushes his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, quickly leaving the dressing room without a word.

It’s the end of the second week of school, and the tiredness is kicking in. He loves going to practice, but Friday afternoon at 4 p.m., seriously? Luckily, it’s only until the season starts, because then there will be no possibility for a Friday afternoon training if they have a match during the weekend.

He walks over towards the field, grabbing his phone from his pocket. The coach will make him hand it in before practice, but he’s got another twenty minutes. He sends a quick text to Isco.

-          **What are you doing 2nite?**

-          _I’m studying my lines for Monday. Auditions for C._

Right, Isco was going to try to get the lead role. Cristiano had been quite surprised when Isco showed up to school on the second day, carrying a copy of the play underneath his arm and studying the lines during every free minute. He’s glad that his friend is really trying this year, because he deserves to play at least one lead role before high school is over. Mercutio last year was already pretty awesome to watch, because Isco really got into the fight scenes. The subtle homoerotic undertone of Mercutio’s feelings were, however, dramatically exaggerated, but Cristiano hadn’t been surprised. It was _Isco_ after all; the guy was basically a walking gay parade.

 **Want me to help?** he offers. **I got nothing to do after dinner.**

Isco’s reply came almost instantly. _Sure, but if u comment on the state of my room I wont hesitate to throw you out of my window._

Cristiano grins. **Promise. Got 2 go, practice is almost startin**

_Tell Messi I said hi!_

**Go fuck yourself.**

He can’t help but smile at his friend, though. If anyone else had said it, he’d be glaring at them for at least a week. But Isco never (seriously) complains whenever he’s complaining about Messi, so for that, his friend gets the monopoly on teasing him about it. He pockets his phone back into his jacket.

Once he’s on the pitch, he grabs a few cones and sets out an easy running drill for himself. The small, rubber flecks of the artificial turf spring up against his legs as he lifts his knees. He runs, does a small exercise to warm his muscles up, and turns, slowing his pace as he runs back to the middle line again. He tries to keep his breathing short and measured, also keeping track of his heartrate. As the minutes progress, he feels his lungs pressing against his ribcage with every inhale, and he slows down to a stop.

The door of the small building slams open, the handle bouncing off the wall. He sees Messi talking to their coach, before the midfielder is jogging towards the field and racing Jesé for the discarded ball near the goal. The setting sun illuminates his body while he moves, and Cristiano turns his head away. His other teammates quickly follow out onto the pitch as well, clapping him on his back.

“Hi Cris, you warm already?” Coach Enriqué asks, when he approaches him.

Cristiano shrugs. “More or less. Still not feeling confident about my condition, though.”

“Take your time,” Enriqué nods, “The season’s not starting for another week, so you don’t have to worry. No one is completely fit yet.”

Cristiano stares at the far end of the field, where Messi is still running and playfully wrestling with Jesé for the ball. “I guess.”

The coach follows his line of sight. “You’re not disappointed that I chose him over you, are you? I thought I made myself perfectly clear the other day.”

Cristiano smiles, knows that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course I am disappointed, I know my own strengths and I know that my drive to win is useful for the team.”

“It absolutely is,” Enriqué nods. “You’re not Second Captain because I wanted to comfort you, Cristiano. You have a strong will and you never give up to fight for the win, which is something we need in a team leader. But as for the all-encompassing role as Captain, Leo is just better at sensing the vibe within the team and adjusting himself to that. I hate the word, but he’s more of a people-person.”

Cristiano twitches his mouth. “Alright.”

Enriqué nods, clearly indicating the conversation is over. He walks to the side of the field and calls one of the rookies to help him set out the warming up.

Cristiano stretches his arms over his head, bending down to touch the tips of his shoes. He feels the strain in the muscles of his thighs, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Were you gossiping about me, Ronaldo?”

Cristiano straightens himself, turning around to look at Messi. He’s holding the ball he won off Jesé underneath his right arm, showing off the curve of his waist. There is a cocky tilt to his smile, and the setting sun makes his eyes gleam. The sun really needs to cut its shit, Cristiano thinks.

“Just talking to the coach,” Cristiano shrugs. “Apparently he thought the team needed a politically correct pussy as Captain.”

Messi lets out a soft laugh, stepping closer. “Really? That’s what he said?”

“That was the general message, yeah.”

“You’re talking shit,” Messi points at him, taking another step closer. He’s right up in Cristiano’s space right now. “You’re a bad loser, you don’t know how to be patient in the field, and you’re selfish in front of the goal. There.” He holds up three fingers. “Those are the reasons why he chose me over you, and if you can’t see that, then there you have another reason why you’re unsuitable for the job. You can’t handle criticism.” He waves the four fingers in Cristiano’s face.

Cristiano slaps them away with a flick of his hand. “Fuck off, you’re the one going off on a rant because I called you a pussy. You’re the one who can’t handle criticism. And I would know, because I am the only one who dares to criticise poor, small Messi who has so much potential,” Cristiano says, not backing down.

Messi’s eyes get dark. “At least I don’t have to compensate for my lacklustre performance by working out like a maniac.”

Cristiano smiles sweetly. “You didn’t seem to mind the state of my body a few weeks ago, _Leo_. I’m pretty sure I remember your tongue sliding over my abs.”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring that up here,” Messi grits out between his teeth, his index finger in Cristiano’s face. “If I find out you’re talking to your friends about us I’ll—”

“Why would I talk to my friends about it, it’s not like you’re anything to brag about, anyway,” Cristiano shoots back. He gives Messi one last scalding look before walking off towards Marcelo, who seems to have gotten his head stuck in one of the orange cones.

-

The weird thing is, their problems disappear on the pitch. Whenever there is a ball involved, their only objective is to perform as well as possible, which includes using each other’s skills in the game. They’re the star duo of the team, and that is one of the reasons why everyone is still not fed up with their constant fights in the locker room, or everywhere else for that matter.

Cristiano loves the way Messi plays, all elegance and grace as he slides through the opponent’s midfield and defence, setting up perfect assists or scoring beautiful goals from Cristiano’s assists. One time, Isco jokingly suggested to him that they would perform much better if they liked each other, to which Cristiano had stolen one of Isco’s chicken nuggets as punishment.

“Cris!” Messi yells, quickly running to go long, and Cristiano knows where he’s going. He kicks the ball towards the empty space on the field where Leo’s headed. The ball bounces once and Leo handles it with ease, clipping it to his right foot and taking the shot. It curls perfectly in the top left corner, out of Kevin’s reach and leaving him grumbling onto the grass.

Messi turns around, sticking his thumb up at Cristiano who acknowledges it with a rising eyebrow. _Lacklustre performance,_ my ass.

They eventually meet up at the dugout, sharing a water bottle in silence while they listen to Enriqué’s pointers on their game.

“Cristiano, I know your technique is only improving lately, but those little tricks along the line aren’t specifically necessary. More often than not, they don’t succeed in the game and that would be a waste. Effectiveness, that’s what counts, not the amount of times you can trick your opponent into a nutmeg.”

Cristiano crosses his arms, but he nods at his coach. “Alright. So effective and boring football is what we’re striving for this season?”

“It’s just better to focus on the practiced drills than to make yourself a one-man sideshow,” Messi says.

“Says the one who nutmegs everyone all the time!” Cristiano splutters, an indignant tone seeping into his voice.

Enriqué sighs. “I was getting to that, if you two could let me finish for once. Leo, what I told Cristiano applies to you as well. We need results before we can worry about the beauty of the play.”

“Got it, coach,” Messi nods.

After Enriqué walks off to talk to Nacho, Messi turns towards him. “You know, when you said that I nutmeg people all the time, it almost sounded like a compliment.”

Cristiano scoffs. “In what universe did that sound like a compliment exactly? I was just pointing out the obvious.”

“Well, yeah, maybe your tone could use some improvement, but I seriously don’t mind you telling me when I do something right. Positive coaching is more effective than negative coaching, after all,” Messi says, throwing the water bottle at Cristiano.

Cristiano catches it and takes a long sip, before wiping his chin off with the back of his hand. “Isn’t it your job as Captain to coach us? Basically, it means _you_ have to kiss _my_ ass and not the other way around.”

“Eat shit,” Messi snaps, walking away.

“That’s right honey, use your words!” Cristiano yells after him, throwing the bottle back into the basket before running off to the last practice drill of the session.

-

Cristiano sinks down onto his spot on the bench in the locker room again, giving Kevin a smile when he throws him a towel. He wipes off the sweat from his forehead, leaning back against the cold, tiled wall. His lungs burn from exertion, and his ankles are still feeling a bit sensitive.

“Do you think I should buy new cleats?” he asks Jesé, who is sitting next to him.

“Dunno,” his friend pants, “These ones bothering you?”

Cristiano lifts up his foot, putting it on Jesé’s knee and showing off the bruising around his ankle. “It’s been like this ever since the year started. So either my ankles are weak as fuck, which, come on, is totally not the case, or there is something wrong with my shoes.”

“It could be the field as well,” Daniel adds, on his way towards the showers. He has a towel wrapped around his waist and he prods a finger on Cristiano’s ankle. “Artificial turf is a bitch if you’re used to the real deal. Did you practice a lot during the summer?”

Cristiano can’t help it, his eyes flick to Messi automatically. “Yeah, only on real grass.”

“Then I guess that’s your problem,” Jesé shrugs. “At least I hope so, because you wouldn’t want it known that you have itty bitty little ankles by default.” He grins at Cristiano, shoving his shoulder against his.

“Shut up, I don’t have little ankles,” Cristiano laughs.

The locker room hums to life. “Yeah, you kinda do, Cris.” “I think so.” “My grandma has stronger ankles that you!”

“Guys!” Cristiano yelps, indignant.

“It’s okay, Cris, you can’t be perfect at everything,” Jesé smiles, patting his knee. “Now, stop pouting and take a shower. You fucking stink.”

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Cristiano snips.

“Oh, _ha_ -bloody- _ha_. So witty,” Jesé sneers, bursting out into laughter as he runs towards the showers, out of the reach of Cristiano.

He retaliates later by poking Jesé’s sides, just as his friend has his eyes closed to shampoo his hair, making him scream. After that, Cristiano showers quickly, the cold water making him shiver as he steps out into the locker room again. His eyes lock with Messi’s briefly, but then he averts them. He grabs another towel from the rack, wrapping it around his head. “Yeah, yeah,” he smiles, taking his teammates’ jeers about his towel hat in stride.

After he finishes up dressing himself in loose-fitting jogging pants and a Nike hoodie, he zips up his bags and shouts his goodbyes at the team. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get that far, as Coach Enriqué stops him just outside of the building.

“Cris, I just got a text from the lacrosse coach. Apparently they’re having an evening practice tonight at eight, so the field has to be clear.”

Cristiano groans. The only good thing about having the last practice of the week is that they can leave the goals on the field, as they also have the first practice on Monday. “Why don’t you get Dani and Jesé to do it? All they did today was trying to shove spiders into the back of each other’s shirts.”

“Because you’re—”

“Part of the Captains duo,” Cristiano finishes for him. “Right. As long as you can get Messi out here as well, because I am not carrying those goals by myself.”

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” he hears Messi’s voice behind him.

“Ah,” Cristiano smiles brightly at him. “I see the process of self-reflection is going well!”

Coach Enriqué lifts his eyes skywards. “Christ… You two are going to force me into an early retirement, mark my words,” he points his finger at them. “Just get this done, and then you two can go home. If one of you kills the other: don’t call me to clean up the body.”

Messi stares at the Coach as he walks away. “Do you think he was joking?”

Cristiano shrugs. “I think he was just stating a possibility,” he says, staring intently at Messi.

“Right,” Messi lets out a breathy laugh. “I should’ve known your violent tendencies would continue beyond the summer. Although I can’t say I really minded it when you shoved me to the ground at Grey Hills Creek.”

“Because that’s how desperate you are to get off with someone other than your hand for once,” Cristiano pats Messi’s shoulder. “It’s okay, one day you’ll last longer than three minutes.”

“Fucking dick,” Messi mutters, shoving Cristiano with his shoulder as he walks back onto the field.

Cristiano cackles, jogging to catch up with him. “I love how you can get so worked up about some things.”

“You love it, hm?” Messi shoots him a challenging glance, his drying hair curling upwards at the nape of his neck. Cristiano’s fingers tingle to wrap themselves around the auburn locks, something he got quite familiar with over the summer.

“I suppose not every aspect of you is despicable,” he says, smiling when Messi’s eyes grow bigger. He jogs further up the field to one of the goals near the middle line. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Messi walks closer, bending down to pick up the corner of the post, feeling the heavy weight of the metal in his palms. “Where to?”

Cristiano takes the other side, lifting the goal with a grunt. “Just outside of the lines,” he grits out between his teeth, walking backwards to the side of the field.

He keeps his eyes on Messi as they clear the field of any props they left during their practice, occasionally yelling at him when he feels like he’s doing all the work here. Other than that, they work together in silence. They manage to nearly finish it in ten minutes, but it’s when they are carrying the last goal to the side that Cristiano feels his hands slip.

“Leo—my hands,” he says, trying to adjust his grip but the slippery metal manages to slide out of his hands. His side of the goal hits the turf, leaving Messi holding up the other side all by himself.

“Fucking hell, Cris!” he yells, quickly letting go of the goal before it crushes his fingers. The goalposts fall onto the grass, rubber particles flying up around it. “A little ‘Heads up!’ would be nice!” Messi says, rounding the goal and stalking over towards Cristiano.

“I warned you! It was because you were walking too damn fast,” Cristiano says, also walking closer until they’re chest to chest, staring angrily at each other.

“You should just keep up, if we did everything in your tempo we’d be here until midnight.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so damn pushy!” Cristiano says, digging his index finger in Leo’s chest.

“You should learn how to follow directions,” Messi fires back, grabbing a handful of Cristiano’s shirt and tugging him closer.

Cristiano can see the changing shades of brown in Messi’s irises, follows the way his pupils grow larger and his eyes grow darker. He swallows hard. Their bodies are flush against each other, he can feel Messi’s chest moving with every exhale.

His eyes flick downward when Messi licks his lips, and he watches as Messi’s pink tongue disappears back in his mouth. Their eyes meet again, he stares unabashedly back at Messi. They’re far past the point of hiding their attraction to each other, anyway. He brings his hand up to Messi’s chest, ready to push him away or to pull him in closer. It’s probably going to be the latter.

And even though he is expecting it, the air still gets knocked out of his lungs when Messi closes the distance between them.

Their lips meet in a harsh kiss, the warmth spreading all the way down to his toes. He feels his fingers grabbling onto Messi’s shirt, pulling him closer. Messi’s mouth fits perfectly on his, their lips moving against each other before they open up. He moans when Messi pushes his tongue inside his mouth, feeling his footing waver for a bit, but Messi just pulls him in tighter against his body. Their tongues fight for dominance, the force of their kiss increasing. Every flick of Messi’s tongue makes Cristiano’s toes curl and he tugs Messi along to the side of the field, where the dugout is.

Their kiss falters as they try to move backwards, and Cristiano groans when Messi slams him up against the side of the dugout, out of sight. Now that the chance of anyone catching them is significantly smaller, Cristiano lets his hands wander underneath Messi’s shirt. He digs his fingers in the small of Messi’s back, revelling in the way Messi groans into the kiss and pushes their hips together. They’re both hard already, their clothed cocks rubbing off against each other.

Messi pulls back, panting harshly. “I thought you said this was a summer-only thing,” he mutters, his teeth nipping at Cristiano’s bottom lip before sucking on it.

“And I thought you said that was the smartest thing that had ever come out of my mouth,” Cristiano breathes, his fingers sliding lower down Messi’s back, past the waistband of his shorts. He grabs a handful of Messi’s ass, catching the moan Messi lets out with his own lips as he kisses him again.

“I’m willing to change my statement if you are,” Messi says against Cristiano’s lips, a suggesting lilt to his tone. Cristiano wants to punch him for it, but his cock twitches at the words.

“I am,” he grits out between his teeth before catching Messi’s lips again with his own.

They both scramble to get their pants down their thighs, tugging the waistbands of their boxers below their balls. Cristiano lets out a guttural moan when Messi takes his cock into his hands, and the feeling is still _oh_ , so good.

He fists Messi’s cock, the girth and length familiar in his palm and he slips his thumb over the head. Pre-come has gathered at the slit and he wipes it down along Messi’s cock, smoothening the push and pull of his fingers.

Their kiss gets sloppy as they jerk each other off, their lips moving messily as they pant against each other. Messi’s lips look red and bitten, and Cristiano figures his own probably won’t look any better. They stare each other straight in the eyes, foreheads pushed together.

Cristiano feels the tension in his stomach building, ready to fall over the edge, when Messi lets go of his cock.

He lets out a whine, his eyes conveying his confusion. Messi shushes him with a kiss, before using his other hand to ruck up his own shirt to his chest. Then he grabs Cristiano’s ass cheeks with both his hands, pushing their hips together.

“Rub off on me,” he orders, and a soft sound escapes Cristiano’s throat. He forms a tight ring of his fingers for Messi to push his cock through, and angles his own length to slide against the tensed muscles of Messi’s abdomen.

It feels so good, his temples feel moist with sweat and he pushes their mouth together again, to prevent himself from making any more embarrassing sounds.

He rubs his cock harder against the warm plane of Messi’s stomach, and the evilness of Messi’s plan dawns on him when he feels Messi’s hands squeezing his ass. His moans get a little higher when he feels his fingertips slipping in between the crease of his ass.

“I hate you,” he whispers breathily against Messi’s lips, struggling to keep his eyes open and to maintain their unwavering eye contact. He feels his orgasm building, knows it’s going to be over soon. His fingers slide expertly along Messi’s cock, squeezing his balls before trailing them back up to finger at the slit. Pre-cum is dripping steadily down his fingers now, so Messi probably won’t last long anymore either.

“Come on, Cris,” Messi whispers against his lips, his voice dropping a few octaves whenever they’re together like this. “You’re going to come like this? Or do you need something more?”

Cristiano knows it’s coming, knows Messi is mocking him because of it, but he can’t help the loud moan that crosses his lips when Messi pushes the tip of his finger past the rim of his hole. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock drooling pre-cum onto Messi’s stomach.

“I can still read you better than anyone else,” Messi mutters, tightly grabbing another handful of his ass. “And you know it.”

Those words only add onto the abuse his senses are getting, and Cristiano presses his forehead against Messi’s. “I-I’m, I’m going to—”

“Me, too,” Messi whispers, his voice wavering. “Come on, do it for me. Let me see you.”

The coaxing and the encouragements are what does it for him. His cock spurts ropes of come onto Messi’s abdomen, the force of his orgasm making him drop his head into the crook of Messi’s shoulder, biting down on the fabric of his shirt.

“Fuck, yeah,” Messi sighs, as Cristiano thumbs his slit one last time before he feels the warm spurts of come hitting his hand. “God, I missed this.”

Cristiano tries to catch his breath, humming an affirmative. The cotton of Messi’s shirt in between his teeth makes his tongue feel raw, and he lifts his head back up. Cristiano expects that they exchange the closed off looks they have become familiar with. But Messi isn’t meeting his eyes this time, too busy wiping his abdomen with one of the neon coloured substitutes-vests which had been discarded over the railing.

They tug each other’s boxers and shorts up, cleaning their hands on the vest. It’s Messi’s turn for laundry duty anyway, so Cristiano can’t give a fuck.

As they make their way off the field in silence, Messi walking three paces ahead of him, Cristiano’s eyes fall on the goal they didn’t manage to get outside the lines. Instead, it still stands there in the middle of the cleared field, like a reminder that they weren’t done yet. And isn’t that just a perfect example of this weird thing he and Messi have got going on.


	3. Toni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Auditions day, as well as Isco's 18th birthday!

“Would you like extra milk with that, Sir?”

Toni snaps out of the headspace wherein he was zoning out. The life of a teacher is truly taking its toll on the amount of hours he can sleep at night. He looks up at the barista, who is staring at him expectantly.

“I’m so sorry, what did you say?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he searches for some money.

“I asked if you wanted extra milk with your cappuccino,” the barista replies, taking one of the cups from the tall stack.

“Oh, erm, no. I’m good,” Toni says, his fingers making contact with something that feels like money.

“Alright,” the barista says, her fake nails making tapping noises as she presses the buttons on the screen. “That will be three dollars and fifty cents, please.”

Toni pulls the money out of his pocket, handing her the five dollar bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

She smiles brightly at him, before turning around to make his drink. Toni breathes in deeply, savouring the smell of ground coffee beans. His fingers tap on the counter, and he sees that they are still covered in black ink despite the shower he took this morning. Permanent markers are small advocates of the devil.

“There you go,” the barista says, setting down the cup in front of him. “Have a nice day!”

“You, too,” Toni says, grabbing the drink and making his way through the messy queue towards the door.

Once he’s back in the car, he takes a sip from his coffee and puts it in the cup holder. The sign with **Auditions today @Auditorium 2pm** is in his backseat, and Toni frowns at his ugly handwriting. He really needs to fix that one day. Or he could wait until the whole world would be digitalised with iPads… Which sounds like a great plan and he’s totally going to do that.

He drives his car back out onto the highway again, flicking on his indicators. He’s proud of his practical soccer-mom car, after deciding back in Germany that his old Volkswagen Beetle would probably not survive the trip to the States.

He picks up his coffee again. The carton of the cup is pleasantly warm in his palm, and he takes another sip, the rich taste flowing over his tongue. He brings down the flap over his head to shield his eyes from the rising morning sun.

It’s only eight in the morning, but he likes arriving at the school early. He likes it when the hallways are so quiet that he can hear his own thoughts for once. During the day, the hallways are like a warzone and he’s almost scared to leave his office to find the right classroom.

When he turns his car into the school parking lot, he notices a few other cars already parked. He parks as close to the door as he can, figuring that he needs to save as much energy as he can while he carries the props for the auditions inside.

He drinks the last bit of the coffee, leaving the cup in the holder and gets out of the car. There are two boxes on his backseat, along with the sign. Opening the door, he tries to fit the sign into one of the boxes, and then hoists them underneath both of his arms. He closes the door with an impressive shimmy of his hips.

Just as he’s on his way towards the front doors of the school, he hears someone yelling.

“For Christ’s sake, Cristiano! I can’t see a thing, so guide me a little here!”

He turns around, the handle of the door still in his hand. When he catches the sight of the person yelling, a laugh escapes his throat.

Isco is balancing five pastry boxes in his arms, with only the top of his head peeking out over the edge. His friend Cristiano is guiding him by the shoulders to, presumably, get him to the door safely. Apparently Isco feels like his friend isn’t trying hard enough.

“My hat!” Isco yells in panic, turning around. “Where’s my hat?”

“I have it right here,” Cristiano says, waving the party hat above the boxes so that Isco can see.

Toni hovers at the door, trying to determine whether these boys are the kind of threats to which he should lock the door and throw away the key. He clears his throat. “Do you guys need any help?” he asks.

“Who’s that?” the top of Isco’s head asks. “Is that Toni? I heard ‘gaiz’ so it must be Toni, right?”

Toni rolls his eyes. Three whole weeks have passed with Isco in his class, and apparently his new favourite thing was imitating Toni’s accent. “Yes, Isco. It’s me. Are you alright there?”

“Perfect!” Isco replies. “Other than the fact that I have the worst best friend in the world, everything’s _peachy_.”

Toni raises his eyebrows at Cristiano, who just gives him the most I-am-dead-inside stare he’s ever seen. “Erm, alright. I’ll just hold the door open for you, and your, erm, boxes.”

“Thanks, Toni. If you let me get the lead in the play today then I might save one of the cupcakes for you.”

Toni looks at the stack of boxes Isco’s holding and can _literally_ feel the confusion rolling around in his head. Okay, not literally, but almost. “You bought all of these cupcakes because you’re sure that you’re going to get the lead?” he asks, almost afraid of the answer. If there is one thing he has learned about Isco, is that the boy is taking the concept of unpredictable to a whole new level.

Isco walks past Toni when he holds the door open for him. Cristiano is still steering him by his shoulders to make sure Isco doesn’t immediately crash into the prize cabinet. “I was witnessing Isco’s nervous breakdown last  night, so no, he’s not sure he’ll get the part,” Cristiano says.

Toni is _so_ confused. “Then what are the cupcakes for?”

Isco hands the boxes over to Cristiano and pulls the string of the party hat under his chin. “Because I’m eighteen now, bitch!” he grins, pointing at the **18** on the hat.

Toni stares in shock at the penises drawn in a circle around the 18, and quickly brings his eyes back down. “Bitch?” he repeats, crossing his arms.

“Sorry,” Isco blushes, “I just get so carried away. But even though I love chatting with you and buttering you up so you’ll like me enough to give me the lead – I really, really have to go put these cupcakes in the refrigerator before Coach Enrique takes up all the space with his huge-ass lunch.”

Too many words in too little time, so Toni just nods and makes a dismissing motion with his hand. “Go ahead. I’ll see you this afternoon, and remember, being late will destroy all the so-called _buttering up_ you’re doing right now.”

Isco gives him a grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling cutely. “Roger that. See you!” He grabs Cristiano by the elbow and steers his friend towards the teacher’s lounge.

“Oh, and Isco?” Toni calls after him.

Isco turns around, eyebrows raised. One of the boxes slides and he pushes it back without breaking eye contact.

“Happy eighteenth birthday,” Toni smiles.

He tells himself that it’s the belated effect of the coffee that makes his insides warm, and not the bright smile Isco sends his way.

-

The auditions start at 2, and after one hour Toni is ready to call quits on the whole thing and run back to Germany. Too much dramatic wailing, too many teenagers riding on a sugar high which was undoubtedly induced by Isco’s enormous cupcakes, and too much butchering of the English language. He can’t take it anymore.

He stares in horror at Jesé, who is delivering his monologue in rap-form on stage. “ _Yo, I am Caius Martius, the badass mofo who conquered Corioli all by himself. I’ve got a banging wife but when it comes to dudes I just can’t help maself. I want to be the boss of Rome, so all them ugly-ass peasants have got to get thrown—”_

Toni raises his eyebrows.

“ _Out_ ,” Jesé adds. “I’m sorry, man. I’ll fix that later. But I couldn’t get the sentences right with the beat.”

“What beat?” Toni splutters. “You were rapping acapella!”

Jesé taps against his temple. “The beat in my head, man,” he says, sounding stoned.

Toni trades glances with Gareth, the English teacher who promised to help him out with the auditions. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Thank you, Jesé. Your performance was, erm, enlightening.”

“I aim to please, dude,” Jesé grins, sounding incredibly happy with himself. “I’ll let the others have their shot, even though it’s probably not necessary anymore. I mean, no one is going to slay that like I did.”

Toni smiles, swallowing his screams. “It certainly was unique.”

Jesé throws up a peace sign and leaves the stage, which is immediately followed by the sound of something crashing down behind the curtain.

“Oh dear God,” Toni sighs, dropping his head onto the table. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“When I am seeing you right now, I feel like I am watching myself, two years ago,” Gareth says, seriously writing down his notes on Jesé’s performance. Toni wants to cry. What is there to say other than that it was absolute shit? His rhymes didn’t even work out, for Christ’s sake.

“What did you do two years ago, then?” he asks, playing with the plastic spoon in his empty mug.

“A slam-dunk poetry reading.” Gareth frowns with his entire face, probably re-living the memory. “If there is one thing you shouldn’t let teenagers do, it’s giving them a stage to complain about their lives. I’ve heard enough poems about acne, masturbation, and puppy love to last me a lifetime.” Gareth stares at the wall, downing the last of his tea. “Make that two lifetimes.”

“Man,” Toni sighs. “The life of a teacher is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Gareth nods. He stands up. “I’m getting some more tea in order to get through this. You want something?”

“I’d like some tea as well, please,” Toni says, handing his empty mug to Gareth.

Gareth laughs, inspecting the text on the mug. “What is this?”

“Oh,” Toni feels his cheeks flush. “I don’t know, it suddenly appeared on my desk a few days ago.”

“Typical, the foreign teacher has a secret admirer.”

“It’s probably just a joke,” Toni shrugs. He looks at the mug, which has **HOT TEA-CHER!** written in red letters on the side.

“Maybe it was one of the other teachers,” Gareth muses, cracking a grin at Toni’s apprehensive expression. “Or just one of your many students who’ve got too much time on their hands.”

“Probably that,” Toni laughs. He turns back towards his list of names. “Isco! You’re up!” he yells towards the stage.

“Oh, I don’t want to witness that train wreck. Did you know he was the one reciting the most poems, and all of them were about sex? That kid truly scarred me,” Gareth says, quickly making his way out of his seat and towards the hallway.

Multiple students are sitting in the seats, spread throughout the theatre, either studying their own lines or cracking jokes at the others. Toni looks through them, but Isco is nowhere to be seen. “Have any of you seen Isco? It’s his turn,” he asks them. The students shake their heads, “No, not really.”

Toni sighs. “Fine.” He gets up out of his chair and walks towards the front, getting up on the stage and walking behind the curtains.

Backstage it’s even more of a mess, students sitting in groups with papers filled with Shakespeare’s holy lines spread out all over the floor. Some girls are applying extremely showy make-up, reciting their words in the mirror.

“Is Isco here?” Toni asks them.

“I think I saw him and Luka in one of the backrooms,” Cristiano says, walking towards him. He has a white sheet draped around his body and he has winged eyeliner painted on his eyelids.

“You’re auditioning?” Toni asks, confused. “You don’t take Drama.”

Cristiano shrugs. “I’m here for Isco’s audition. He studied a dialogue, and demanded I performed it with him.”

“And he made you dress up like a woman?” Toni asks. He wonders how Isco has so many friends, if he pulls stunts like this onto them.

“Nah. I play Aufidius,” Cristiano says, flashing him a bright smile. “I just got really into it when I realised how bomb A-F my eyeliner looks.”

Toni is at a loss of words. “Yeah,” he says. “It looks… bomb.” God, why is he so awkward?

And what? “Isco is going to perform a dialogue?” The assignment clearly said that the students had to prepare a monologue, which is easier to remember and thus easier to perform. Toni really, really hopes it’s not going to be a train wreck, like Gareth said.

“Yeah, he is. Worked pretty damn hard for it as well,” Cristiano shrugs.

“Please tell me you are not going to enact the murder-scene?” Toni pleads. “I’m not ready to clean up fake blood yet.”

Cristiano shakes his head. “No, we’re not. Isco wanted to do the gayest scene in the play, so. Anyway, he’s probably over there somewhere.” He points towards the hallway where a few classrooms were open for the students to prepare in.

“Thank you, Cristiano,” Toni says. _For clearing up any doubts I had about Isco’s sexuality._ Seriously, his brain needs to shut up.

He makes his way towards one of the classrooms. The door is slightly open, and Toni sees Isco and Luka inside. The latter is pacing up and down in front of the classroom, nervously.

“I’m never going to remember any of this,” he hears Luka say.

“You will, it’s going to be okay,” Isco replies, standing up from where he was sitting and walking over to his friend. He hugs Luka briefly, and then gives him a smile. “You’re going to be fine. Everyone is nervous for this.”

Luka sighs. “I just don’t like that everyone’s going to be looking at me. What if I forget a line? I’m not inventive enough to make something up!”

“Which is not a bad thing,” Isco says, laughing. “Did you see Jesé up there? Trust me, it’s better to not make anything up yourself. Come on, you studied even harder than I did, and you’re twice as smart as I am. You’re going to be fine! I’ll watch behind the curtains and mouth the words if you forget them.”

“You’d do that?” Luka asks. Toni almost feels bad for giving him so much stress over this, but what can he do? It’s his job.

“Of course, I always stick around after school anyway. Who knows, maybe I’ll come rescue you on stage like a damsel in distress. I think I saw a horse suit somewhere around here, so I can make Cris put that on!”

Luka cracks a smile. “Idiot. The worst thing is that you’d actually do that,” he says, but he’s looking five times more relieved than before.

Toni clears his throat, pushing the door wider open. “There you are, Isco,” he smiles, as if he’d just arrived. “I was looking for you, it’s your time to go on.”

Isco nods at him, sighing deeply and shaking his arms for theatrical effect. “Time to show off some Isco magic,” he grins, walking past Toni towards the stage.

“What did I tell you about using that term?” Toni asks, but before Isco can answer, Gareth walks up towards them. He hands Toni his steaming cup of tea before heading back to his seat.

“That’s a pretty mug,” Isco remarks, an exaggerated, teasing lilt to his voice and a complacent grin on his face. He’s not even hiding his smugness, wiggling his eyebrows at Toni. _What a cute nerd,_ Toni’s brain helpfully adds. What?

“I knew it,” Toni mutters, but he can’t help but smile. “But the joke’s on you, because I actually really needed a mug and you saved me, like, five dollars.”

“I know you needed one,” Isco says, folding the paper with his lines and putting it away. “That’s why I bought it for you. The whole punny joke was just really good fucking luck.”

Isco got it for his as a gift. Toni doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just says, “Watch your language. And get ready.”

Isco just grins after him, before turning around and yelling about where the fuck Cristiano is. Toni wonders why he even tries.

-

He leans back in his seat, nudging Gareth when Isco and Cristiano walk onto the stage. Toni wants to hide behind his clipboard, the second-hand embarrassment for his student already growing.

“Hi Isco and Cristiano!” Gareth greets them brightly. “What part will you two be performing for us today?”

“We’ll be playing the scene in Act 5 when Coriolanus goes to Aufidius’ house, and even though Aufidius hates him and wants to kill him, he suddenly realises that he actually loves Coriolanus,” Isco says, tucking his hands behind his back.

“So, you’ll be playing Aufidius, then?” Gareth asks.

“No, I play Coriolanus,” Isco says. He points at Cristiano. “He’ll be playing Aufidius.”

Gareth frowns. “But it’s your audition, shouldn’t you take up the largest role? This scene is carried mostly by Aufidius’ words.”

Isco shrugs. “I don’t care if I have less to say. I want to do this scene.” He seems to be getting a little frustrated.

Toni puts his hand on Gareth’s wrist when the English teacher wants to speak up again. “That’s perfectly okay, Isco. Good luck to you both.”

Isco shoots him a thankful smile, and then turns around. He and Cristiano get in position and Toni realises he’s holding his breath.

-

Aufidius steps forward, looking around until his eyes fall onto Coriolanus. “From whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name?”

Coriolanus steps forward and kneels before Aufidius. “My name is Caius Marcius Coriolanus, who hath done to thee particularly and to all the Volsces great hurt and mischief. I have burnt thou city to ashes. And now, I have been whoop'd out of Rome. This extremity hath brought me to thy house. I offer you my throat, allow you to take your revenge. Otherwise, I offer my faithful service to you and your city.”

Aufidius gasps, tearing the dagger from his belt and holding it against Coriolanus’ throat. “O Coriolanus, Coriolanus! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart a root of ancient envy. Thou hast destroyed my city, and my honor. Nights I have spent awake, pondering of the death I shall bring onto you and your family. But now! Thou hast come willingly. And as I see thee here before me, my heart pounces harder than it did on my wedding night. Thou hast beat me in battle twelve several times, and I have since dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; we have been down together in my sleep, unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat. And I woke half dead with nothing. But now. Alas! We have but one enemy: Rome! Tell me, willst thou wage war onto Rome with me? The death of Rome shall be sufficient to still my need for revenge towards thee.”

Aufidius removes the dagger from Coriolanus’ throat, pulling him harshly onto his feet and kissing his lips feverishly.

“Give me thou answer, I beg of you.”

Coriolanus sways from the force of relief, knowing he will not find his death today. “I shall go with you, to plunge Rome into the blood of their warriors and their maidens! Forever they shall regret casting me out of their arms. And forever I shall glorify that day with thou by my side.”

“Promise me,” Aufidius demands.

Coriolanus drops his head onto Aufidius’ shoulder. “I promise thee!”

-

The entire theatre stays silent after that. For a few seconds, the air is still loaded with the stringing and desperate atmosphere of the scene, the strong emotions resonating through the hall.

“Ugh, I’m never kissing you again!” Isco suddenly sputters, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“You were slobbering all over me, it was like I was making out with a dog,” Cristiano says, a pinched expression on his face.

The tension in the room breaks, and Toni hears himself clapping loudly before he even registers what his hands are doing. Other people in the room quickly follow, and Gareth whistles on his fingers.

Isco and Cristiano smile bashfully, bumping their shoulders together. Toni sees Isco’s hopeful look, and it nearly breaks his heart. He can see how much work and time he has put into it. Despite the fact that it was Cristiano’s main scene, the tiny flickers of various emotions on Isco’s face as Cristiano held the dagger against his throat were absolutely astounding. It was the most subtle and natural acting he has seen so far today, and it was so unlike Isco that Toni hardly saw him on stage. He saw Coriolanus.

“That was fantastic,” he says, after he clears his throat a few times. “Thank you for doing this. It’s very admirable, Isco, to audition for the main role and hardly say anything. Cristiano, for you as well, you did a great job. I know it must’ve been difficult for both of you, also with the use of Middle English, but it was very good.”

“Woo!” he hears Luka cheer from behind the curtains, setting off another bout of applause as Cristiano and Isco make their way off the stage.

Toni leans back in his seat, fixing his hair and letting out a deep sigh. “I feel like I need something stronger than tea now.”

Gareth grins. “And I feel five years younger after seeing that. Who knew that the kid who was crying about being a virgin in poetry-form could be this good two years later?”

“I don’t know,” Toni shrugs. “But I sort of felt that he had it in him from the very first day.”

He wants to say more but he startles when Isco literally comes skipping down the aisle towards them. The penis-decorated party hat is once again proudly sitting on top of his hair, and he looks like a five-year-old whose parents just told him Christmas had come early this year.

“Hi!” Isco says, clearly still riding high on the adrenaline of his performance. “I just wanted to say that obviously Cristiano was amazing, and even though he’s not in Drama class, I was wondering if he could be something of a stand-in or whatever? But only if there aren’t other people in this class who want to be the stand-in for Aufidius of course!” Toni is worried that Isco is going to start bouncing anytime now.

“But!” Isco continues, “Cristiano is way too proud to actually admit that he really liked it, but other than the fact that he had to kiss his nerd best friend who is sort of his brother which makes it really weird, he really liked it!”

Toni laughs, standing up and putting his hands on Isco’s shoulders to calm him down. The way Isco immediately stills and silently looks up to him shouldn’t be making his stomach flutter. _It shouldn’t._

“We’ll definitely consider Cristiano as a stand-in, don’t worry,” he says.

Isco lets out a long breath. “Phew, thank God! Because you really don’t want to experience Cristiano when he’s disappointed over something he claims he doesn’t care about. It’s rocket science, trying to figure him out during those times.”

“I believe you,” Toni grins. “Now, I am pretty sure I heard Mrs. Rubio in the teacher’s lounge complaining about the mess you and your cupcakes made. She gave you detention for it, right?”

Isco sighs, pouting a bit. “Only because I was trying to catapult them to everyone. It’s not _my_ fault no one knows how to catch a damn cupcake.”

Toni presses his lips so tightly together to keep from laughing. This fucking kid. “I’ll make sure to tell her that, if you promise to go to your detention hour now.”

“A’ight,” Isco grins, running off with his hat bouncing on his head. “See you later, Mr. T!”

Next to him, Gareth starts cracking up at Isco’s words and spills his tea over the front of his pants. At least life as a teacher is a whole lot less boring, Toni figures.

-

At the end of the day, he is completely drained. Every cup of coffee he’d drank during the day had no impact whatsoever. He should probably ask his doctor if teachers build up an immunity to coffee, because he feels like he’s already getting there.

Luckily, the auditions were finished by half past four, so he’s been hiding in his office ever since. There were quite a few good auditions, and he’s a sucker for the people who tried really, really hard because inside he’s about as soft as a marshmallow. He has ranked the auditions in his head on a scale from Jesé to Isco. He’d feel bad for Jesé, hadn’t it been for the fact that Jesé had later come up to him saying he’d rather work on the decors and be creative, and that Coriolanus was the only part he could make up a semi-decent rap for. Gareth had troubles keeping his coffee from spraying out of his nostrils when Jesé said ‘semi-decent’.

He plans to finish dividing the parts tonight, now that the memory of all the auditions is still fresh. It is difficult, but he strives to get everyone a part of an actual human character, as subjecting students to playing a sheep is just sad.

Standing up from his chair, and turning off his laptop, he grabs his bag from the floor and puts it on the table. He puts his books and papers in his bag, closing his laptop and neatly fitting it in between.

A knock on his door slightly startles him. “Come in,” he says, closing the flap of his bag and zipping it up.

Isco pokes his head around the door, party hat wobbling dangerously. “Oh, I see you’re leaving,” he says, waving at Toni’s bag. “Never mind, then.”

“No, it’s okay,” Toni says, before Isco can close the door again. “Something you wanted to ask me?”

Isco steps inside. “Firstly, I kind of wanted to ask you if you are okay that I ignored the assignment and performed a dialogue? I can see it might’ve been unfair to the people who did what you said and studied a monologue.”

Toni looks at the genuine worry on Isco’s face, feeling bad for him. “No, of course not. Your dialogue with Cristiano was a nice diversion from the monologues, it made me realise I should’ve left that option open. I just figured dialogues are more stressful for most people, because you’re dependant on the other. You did nothing wrong, don’t worry about it.”

The worry breaks from Isco’s face immediately. “Oh, good,” he smiles. “And, secondly, I wanted to ask you if you already knew what role I am going to play?”

“Oh,” Toni frowns slightly, “I’m sorry. I know most of them already, but it wouldn’t be fair if I told you which role you’re going to play.”

“No, I get that,” Isco says quickly. “I just thought that if you already know what role I should play, then I can give you this without you feeling like I am trying to bribe you or something.” He gets out a pink monstrosity behind his back, and it takes Toni a few seconds to realise it’s a cupcake.

Isco blushes. “I know it’s a bit damaged, considering I had to nearly scratch Cristiano’s eyeballs out to stop him from taking it. But I won it fair and square, so there ya go,” he smiles proudly, carefully putting it down onto Toni’s desk.

Toni averts his eyes when Isco licks off the pink icing from his fingers. This is the second time today that Isco’s actions leave him without words. It’s getting old and he wants his brain to cut its shit.

“That’s,” he says, eventually, “That’s really nice of you, Isco. I appreciate the trouble you had to go through to give it to me. You sure you don’t want it for yourself? It’s your birthday, after all.”

Isco smiles brightly, waving dismissively. “I’ve eaten more of these things to last me an entire year, so go ahead. It’s yours.”

“Surely there’s a special person who deserves your last cupcake more?” Toni tries, getting highly confused by the feelings swirling in his gut.

Isco shrugs again, making his way out of the door. “That’s why I gave it to you, duh,” he grins, shutting the door behind him.

Toni stares at the closed door for a good fifteen seconds, before picking up the cupcake and sinking into his chair. As he takes a bite of the lump of sugary goodness,  he wonders why he’s making so many questionable choices lately.


	4. Leo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to take a look in Leo's head!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told y'all were going to get a christmas present from me. ;)
> 
> regarding the time jump: there's about 2 weeks between each chapter, unless i specifically indicate a bigger/smaller time jump (coming 3 chapters will have a smaller time jump).
> 
> warning: there's some severe case of internalized homophobia in this chapter, and a homophobic slur is used once as an insult. tread carefully people!
> 
> thanks again to [pseuicide](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pseuicide/pseuds/pseuicide)/[lionaldo](http://www.lionaldo.tumblr.com) for being a great beta♥

Leo rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking rapidly. He stares blearily at the nearly empty hallway in front of him. Quickly opening his grey locker, he stuffs his training bag in the bottom. The letters on the spines of his school books blur together, and he sighs, grabbing the one that vaguely looks like his Physics book. He stares at the cover, noting the smiling molecules on the cover and stuffs it in his bag. It’s a double period, so he doesn’t need anything other than his Physics book.

Swinging the locker door close, he hurries towards the right classroom. He sees Miss Samuels closing the door, sprinting towards her and pushing his body through the door before she closes it completely.

“Leo.” She acknowledges him with raised eyebrows. “You’re pushing it, class begins at ten thirty.”

Leo spares a quick glance at the clock before looking back at her with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Football practice ran later than usual, it won’t happen again.”

“I see,” Miss Samuels says, walking towards her desk and sitting down in the black chair which has seen better days. “Just don’t let it happen again. Go, find your seat before you waste any more minutes of my lesson.”

“You hadn’t even began yet,” Leo frowns, muttering under his breath.

“What was that?” his teacher asks. Her eyebrows disappear underneath her bangs again and Leo hopes they get lost there.

“Nothing,” he says, a clipped tone to his voice. He turns around and makes his way towards the back of the class.

Jesé gives him a grin and a fist bump, before leaning back over the many papers spread crisscross over his desk. Leo hops onto the high lab chairs, hoisting his bag onto the table and taking out his books.

At the front of the class, Miss Samuels starts explaining the Complementary Principle, furiously drawing circles on the whiteboard  which indicate the particles. Leo flips his book open, giving the page a quick overview before folding his arms over it, and dropping his head in the crook of his elbow.

He’s been having serious sleeping problems lately, spending half the night tossing and turning and staring up at the college football poster hanging above his head. It’s getting really old now, no matter what he tries, he simply can’t seem to fall asleep earlier than—well. Maybe that’s what he hates the most about it.

The biggest problem is that he feels restless when he lies down in his bed at night. He often goes on an evening run around the neighbourhood, which gets his energy and adrenaline spiked up, and he can’t seem to really calm down from it. His father tried to tell him to forgo the runs, as he has football practice every other day of the week, so the runs aren’t entirely necessary. Leo likes the runs, just like he enjoys training on set days.

But then when he lies awake, it feels like there is something strumming beneath his skin and on top of all that, he’s feeling horny every other second. It surely doesn’t help that Cristiano and he have started up whatever it is that they have again, because his entire body is wired with anticipation throughout the day. Because it isn’t like Cristiano texts him when he wants to hook up. Leo doubts if Cristiano would even deign to have his phone number in his phone. No, Cristiano seems to be taken way too much enjoyment out of luring, and _yes, he is fucking luring_ Leo to some quiet place at any given moment of the day. And on top of all that, he usually tries to startle Leo in the process. Which isn’t completely bad, because two days ago Leo elbowed him in the face when he got startled by Cristiano, and it ended up with Cristiano holding toilet paper against his bleeding nose. Doesn’t matter, anyway, because they still jerked each other off in one of the stalls later.

At night however, all the memories and the suppressed fantasies he has come flooding back into his thoughts, and together with the adrenaline flowing through his veins, Leo can’t do much else than jerk off to Cristiano _every. fucking. night._ He has tried watching straight porn, but it just simple doesn’t do it for him anymore. What has his life become? Since when is his biggest secret that nothing gets him hot and bothered like the thought of Cristiano on his knees, his red lips sucking on Leo’s cock? Is he gay? Those are the thoughts that swirl through his head each night as he wipes his hand clean on yet another Kleenex.

And it’s not like he can answer his mother’s worried questions about his hours of sleep with the truth, so there is no direct solution to his problem anywhere on the horizon. Any day now, he’s going to go mad and the worst thing about that would be the smug grin on Cristiano’s face. Fucking asshole.

“Dude.”

Leo flies up, knocking his water bottle and pen on the ground. He quickly glances around him, but all of his classmates are huddled together in pairs, working on an assignment.

He meets Jesé’s eyes, who looks at him quizzically. “You’ve got some messed up conscience, yo.”

Leo cracks a small smile. “I was asleep. It’s bad luck if you wake up a sleeping captain of your football team. You might end up on the bench for the next game.”

Jesé gives him a deadpan look. “I’m pretty sure that saying is about sleepwalking people, doucheface. And it’s not like you can bench me or anything. I’ll hold your fucking shinguards over your head so you can’t use them, shorty.”

“You wouldn’t,” Leo says, getting off of his chair to grab his pen and book from the floor, dropping them back onto the table.

“Fucking try me,” Jesé says, glaring at him so seriously that Leo can’t help but laugh at him.

“What’s gotten you so touchy this morning?” he asks, folding his arms back onto the table and laying his head down sideways, looking at Jesé.

His friend sighs, flicking his pen in frustration at the paper on his desk. “That fucking play, man.”

“For Drama?” Leo asks, leaning up in effort to look at his friend’s drawing, but his head just feels so heavy so he drops it back onto his arms. “I thought you’d auditioned for the lead? I even supported that godawful rap of yours.”

“Hey,” Jesé pouts, offended. “That rap could’ve been a masterpiece, if I had spent more than five minutes on preparing it. But anyway, I just thought that doing all the creative shit, y’know, like painting the background and all would be more my style. But Toni gave me supervision over the whole decor crew. I’m going crazy over here!”

“Boys, keep it down,” Miss Samuels says, from the front of the classroom. “I don’t believe this assignment requires that you scream your inner feelings to Leo, does it, Jesé?”

“No, ma’am,” Jesé mumbles. He continues in a softer tone, “I’m working on the decors right now, but the settings are all so vague.” He waves a stapled stack of papers at him, which Leo presumes is the play.

“I’m sure you’ll get around to it,” Leo assures him. “You can always ask one of the rookies if they want to help you. They’re desperate, man.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jesé shrugs. “It’s nice though, I’d rather do this than play Coriolanus. I’m pretty sure Isco would’ve yanked my head off if I got it over him, anyway.”

Leo grins. “Did you hear the announcement he yelled through the speakers two weeks ago, after he found out he got the role? I thought he was crying.”

“He totally was,” Jesé grins.

“How do you know?”

“Duh,” Jesé scoffs. “Who do you think lockpicked the door for him? You should have seen Cristiano’s face. He didn’t want any part of it, but he did stick around to make sure Isco didn’t break anything. And he was in a good mood, because he gets to be the understudy for that other dude, the one Coriolanus is gay for.”

“Cristiano auditioned?” Leo asks. _What the actual fuck?_

Jesé nods. “He and Isco did it together. Cris was real good, too. No one’s even bothered he gets to be the understudy.”

“That’s so weird,” Leo says, treading his hand through his hair. He rubs at his eyes again, feeling the tiredness wanting to drag his eyelids down. “The roles have been announced for two weeks now, and he hasn’t said anything about it to me.”

Jesé stares at him as if he’s grown five heads. “Why would Cris tell you? You guys both act like the other one has chlamydia.”

“Cristiano could have chlamydia,” Leo retorts automatically. It’s a good thing Jesé doesn’t know they’re fooling around, otherwise he would’ve epically shot himself in the fucking foot.

“Case in point,” Jesé grins, taking an apple out of his bag. “Seriously, he’s just going to rehearse with them a couple of times so he knows what lines to say and what to do in case he has to go on.”

“Well, he should have told me,” Leo snaps. “I see him almost every day.”

“What’s up with you man, you’re acting weird as shit,” Jesé says, chewing obnoxiously loud around his apple.

 _Get it together._ “I-I don’t know, but he should be focused on the season. We’ve already lost two games, and now the Second Captain is already looking for something else. What kind of message do you think those rookies get now, huh?”

“I really think you’re reading too much into it,” Jesé tries.

“Am I?” Leo asks harshly. “Because I don’t think so. He should be focused on the team, and the team alone. It’s different for you, because you’re actually in Drama class and you’re not captain. We can’t have Cristiano dancing around in a tutu on stage when we’ve got a game the next day.”

The bell rings sharply, indicating the beginning of lunch break.

“Oh thank God!” Jesé sighs, quickly sliding off of his chair. “Leo, dude. I love you, but not when you get all crazy-eyes over Cris. Nothing of this during the next hour, please. I beg you.”

Leo rolls his eyes, nodding slowly.

-

The revelation comes to him as he is biting in his peanut butter sandwich, sitting at his lunch table. He might have vented too much of his frustration onto his teammate. It’s not Jesé’s fault Cristiano is an absolute, irresponsible and information-withholding asshole.

He slides over towards Neymar, one of the rookies on the team. The kid has something of a god complex when it comes to him, and Leo would feel guilty about this, hadn’t it been that the guy is artsy as shit.

“Ney,” he says, putting down his sandwich.

He gets a bright smile in return. “What’s up, Leo? You’re looking kind of tired.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Leo says. “I was wondering how often you guys have to train? Because you rookies don’t train with us every session.”

Neymar shrugs. “Two, three times a week. I always go on Tuesdays, because that’s when you handle the first part of the practice.”

Leo figures he should totally carry Neymar around whenever he’s feeling insecure about something. “Right,” he says, “So you’ve got some days off to work on something else?”

“Sure?” Neymar perks up. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, it’s not really for me. Jesé is in charge of the decor committee for the play that the senior Drama class is performing. I know you like to paint, so maybe you’d like to help him out? It would be good for you later on, that shit works on you college applications.”

“Really?” Neymar asks. “It sounds fun, yeah. Jesé was talking about it the other day but I didn’t think freshmen were allowed to help out.”

“Sure you are,” Leo says, knocking Neymar’s shoulder gently. “And you already know Jesé so you guys can easily figure shit out together.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Neymar says, looking around. “I’m going to go find Jesé now, get some details.”

“You’re welcome,” Leo says, sliding back to give Neymar some space to get out of his seat.

He eats the last bit of his sandwich, letting his eyes go over the cafeteria. Jesé and Neymar are already looking pretty hyper, exchanging their ideas with big gestures. His eyes fall on Cristiano, who is just in the process of throwing an empty bottle in the trash, making his way towards the left hallway.

Clenching his jaw, Leo stands up from his seat. “Be right back,” he tells Daniel and Kevin, who wave him off casually.

He makes his way through the cafeteria, avoiding a few groups of people. The doors of the cafeteria swing as he pushes through them, and he spots Cristiano halfway down the corridor.

“Cris!” he yells.

He sees Cristiano stopping, turning around. “I don’t have time for this, Messi. Class is almost starting.”

Leo stops walking until they’re standing at an arms-length of each other. “I don’t care. Why didn’t you tell me that you got cast as an understudy in Coriolanus?”

Cristiano looks confused, his eyebrows frowning a bit. “Why would that be any of your business? We don’t talk, so I don’t even know when it could have come up.”

“It is my business,” Leo hisses. “You should tell me stuff like this, because like it or not, we are a Captains duo and you should let me know when you’re going to do something on the side.”

Cristiano cracks a grin. “Is that what you’re so worried about? Don’t worry, I don’t have anything _on the side._ ”

“No, that’s not what I am fucking worried about,” Leo says, stepping closer. “The casting list was put up two weeks ago, and we’ve definitely been in close contact since then. More than once, so you could’ve mentioned it any time. _Hey Messi, I can’t handle commitment so that’s why I am wasting my responsibilities to the team in order to play a happy faggot on stage._ Is that what your true calling is, Cris?”

“Don’t call me that, you hypocritical fuck. It’s not my fault you can’t admit it to yourself. And you’ve got some fucking nerve to call me out on the fact that _I_ can’t handle commitment.”

Memories of the past summer flick by Leo’s eyes, a timeline in which their behaviour towards each other had softened. Much like Cristiano’s eyes, which lost some of their steel after a few weeks. Before that, Leo always liked looking in Cristiano’s eyes as they got each other off. The hate and pure dislike he saw in them only turned him on more, telling him that even though Cristiano hated him, Leo still had this over him. But after Cristiano’s eyes had softened, after Cristiano started talking to him more, Leo had started something else entirely. He’d started to avert his eyes. He couldn’t handle the softer looks, the other feelings now laid out in them.

And on that one afternoon, in late August, Cristiano had said that this wasn’t about getting the upper hand over Leo anymore. It had begun to feel right for him, and he’d started wondering whether they could become more than just this. Leo had taken a swing at him, right there, because that wasn’t supposed to fucking happen. Cristiano had cheated on the game they’d been playing for weeks. With his hand pressed to his jaw, Cristiano had yelled at him that he never should’ve expected Leo to get out of his silly belief that he didn’t feel anything for him, that this was only about the competition they had going between them.

The soft brown in Cristiano’s eyes had turned back to steel by the time Cristiano walked back to his bike, leaving him there. Leo had succeeded.

He’d looked Cristiano straight in the eyes again that first time after the summer, after training, behind the dugout. It wasn’t straight out hate he saw, it was betrayal. _Close enough,_ Leo figured _. It was close enough._

“I’m not,” Leo swallows hard, “I’m not a hypocrite.”

“You do realise you’re that no-homo type of guy, right?” Cristiano says. “You’re a fucking joke.”

“Shut up,” Leo says, fisting Cristiano’s shirt and pulling them closer together.

“Let go of me,” Cristiano demands, trying to twist out his grip, bringing his hands up to push at Leo’s shoulders.

Leo only holds on tighter to Cristiano’s shirt, trying to stop him from squirming.

“Boys!”

Leo releases Cristiano abruptly, seeing Mr. Kroos stalking towards them with an angry expression on his face. Cristiano squeezes his shoulders painfully before letting go, smoothening out the creases Leo made in his shirt.

“Cristiano, Leo, what do you boys think you’re doing?” Mr. Kroos demands, crossing his arms and looking at both of them.

“Football disagreement, Sir,” Leo says, clenching his jaw tightly.

“Football disagreement,” Mr. Kroos echoes, disbelievingly. “I can assure you that whatever it is, it’s not worth getting into a physical fight over in the middle of the hallway.”

“It won’t happen again,” Cristiano says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Considering you two, I am not so sure about that, Cristiano,” Mr. Kroos says, taking his notepad out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’m going to have you both sent to detention.”

“What good is that going to do?” Leo sneers. “Writing a few pages from my schoolbooks isn’t going to miraculously solve any problems I have with him.”

Mr. Kroos raises his eyebrows at him. “I believe you have a point. As of right now, there is a stack of posters for the Winter Formal on my desk that need to be hung up by the end of the day. If you two can hang those up together, _in peace,_ I’ll forget this whole thing happened. But if you get into another fight, then it’s a full week of detention for both of you.”

“Fine,” Cristiano says. “I think I can keep my mouth shut for an hour and hang those things up. Messi here might have some troubles though.”

“Will you?” Mr. Kroos asks him.

“No, I won’t,” Leo says, glaring at Cristiano.

“Alright,” Mr. Kroos puts his notebook back into his pocket. “Come to my office at the end of the day.”

Leo sighs deeply, watching the teacher walk off. Cristiano is still standing next to him. They both stalk off into different directions, muttering insults at each other as they go.

-

Coach Enriqué absolutely bullies him during training, there is no other words for it. Leo knows he’s off, of course he is. He’s barely getting in four or five hours of sleep every night, and he still comes to school by bike, practices, and goes on his run after dinner.

He messes up drill after drill, the coach yelling at him to get his head straight. It does horrible things to his frustration and he snaps at multiple people during those two hours.

After a scalding hot shower, he dresses quickly. Cristiano is already waiting outside the door for him and they make their way back to the school. The courtyard is completely empty. Cristiano isn’t paying him any attention, and Leo kind of prefers being yelled at to being ignored. On their way to Mr. Kroos’ office, they pass the detention classroom. Cristiano briefly waves at Isco, who is sitting on one of the desk playing charades with Mr. Ramos.

“You’re an idiot,” Cristiano says to Isco, but there is a fond smile on his face.

“Fuck you, Cris,” they hear Isco yell after them.

Leo can’t help but smile. “Your friend is weird, man.” He means it to come out as positive, because hello, Jesé is also weird but that is his best quality.

Cristiano, however, gives him a furious look. “You shut up about him, Messi. You don’t even know him.”

“I—” Leo splutters. “You just called him an idiot.”

“I’m his best friend, so that gives me the right to insult his stupid ass.”

Leo rolls his eyes, figuring he should’ve known Cristiano has some sort of weird protective streak over his friends. During a game, he once threw his shoe at one of the people in the crowd who’d been yelling shit at Kevin.

When they arrive at Mr. Kroos’ office, he gives them both a challenging look as he hands over the posters to Cristiano, and presses a roll of tape into Leo’s hands. _Teamwork,_ he calls it.

At least it works. They’ve been hanging the posters all over the school in silence for about forty minutes now. Leo suppresses every urge he gets to either yell at Cristiano, or to push him into the nearest supply closet. The way Cristiano’s hair dries up into chocolate coloured curls doesn’t help in the slightest with the latter.

Leo clears his throat. “So, Aufidius, huh? How did it even happen?” he tries to sound neutral, casual, but he fails miserably.

Cristiano shrugs, slamming a poster against a locker, keeping his hand on the paper until Leo puts a piece of tape on the top corners. “Isco wanted it, so I did it.”

“And you liked it?” Leo asks.

“It was fun. Mostly because you weren’t there to steal my spotlight.”

Leo cracks a grin at that, but when he looks at Cristiano, the other boy looks at him evenly. “Cristiano Ronaldo, theatre star,” he gushes dramatically. “Who would’ve thought? Are you going to go all Troy Bolton now, worrying about the right path in life?”

Cristiano glares. “No, I won’t. You of all people know that football will always be number one for me, so the reason why you jumped at me today is something completely different.”

The white hot heat of panic briefly surges through Leo’s veins. He puts another piece of tape on a poster Cristiano holds up. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Cristiano shrugs.

Leo studies his face, not buying it. “Yeah, you do. You have a theory. Come on, let me have it.”

“Fine,” Cristiano says, banging the last poster against the wall. Leo sticks the tape on the corners and stares at him expectantly.

“I think,” Cristiano says, leaning against the locker, “that you were pissed off that I didn’t tell you anything, even though we’ve met up more than once in the past two weeks. Somehow you think that you _deserve_ that I tell you things about myself, things I like to do outside of football. Or, outside of _you_.”

“Really now?” Leo mumbles.

“Really,” Cristiano nods. “Which is ridiculous, right? Because you have done nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to deserve to know anything about me. In fact, last summer you made it perfectly clear that you don’t want anything to do with me other than to yell at me and to jerk me off. You didn’t want to know what I liked, you didn’t want to know where I went on my vacation, and you certainly didn’t want to know whether or not I was going to help Isco get his part. So your whole idea that I should tell you things is insane, and you’ve got no right to ask that of me.”

Leo hates it. He absolutely fucking hates it when Cristiano is right.

“Then what do you want me to do? Should I leave you alone? I’ve been so horrible to you, but you’re _still here._ ”

“Don’t ask me why I am still here, because I can’t give you an answer to that,” Cristiano warns.

“Then what do you want?” Leo asks, pushing into Cristiano’s space.

“If you don’t know what I want, after you’ve fucked me over last summer, then we have another reason why you and I are bad news for each other. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, Leo. And get some sleep because you look like a fucking zombie.” Cristiano pushes himself off the locker and walks past Leo, turning the corner to the other hallway.

Leo thinks about it. He tries not to, but the entire bike ride back to his house he thinks about what it is that Cristiano wants. It’s impossible to figure out. Last summer, Cristiano wanted something more. Dating, maybe, or even a relationship? The thought is so weird to him. He’s pretty sure he’s not even gay, and getting into a relationship would totally blow that out of water.

It comes to him that evening, during his run around the neighbourhood. A few doors down from his house, a dog is sitting on the porch, scratching against the front door with its paw. The owner opens the door, kneeling by the dog and saying, “I’m sorry buddy, I thought you went into the house already.”

Leo nearly trips over a stone in the sidewalk, quickly stopping to a halt. _That’s_ what Cristiano wants. He wants an apology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to make sure: Leo is not some sort of "bad guy" to the story. he's a teenager with highly conflicting feelings. cristiano makes him doubt everything he ever told himself, so it's logical that his reactions are extreme. however, i do not condone any type of homophobia so Leo's behaviour at the moment is in fact out of order.
> 
> so, now we know the personalities and the inner struggles of all our 4 main characters! thank you guys for sticking with me through the first part♥
> 
> hope y'all have a wonderful christmas!♥ feedback is lovingly drooled upon!


	5. Isco II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the Winter Formal!

“Right,” Jesé says, jumping off of the stage and standing in front of Toni. “So during that final scene when Aufidius slices Coriolanus open and kills him, I thought we could add in some flamethrowers? Y’know, get the dramatic effect going real good?”

“No,” Toni says, matter-of-factly. “Thanks for your input, Jesé, but just like your suggestion about the fireworks, there is a safety standard we have to obey.”

“Whatever happened to our free country? What’s the point of killing Isco if we can’t make a spectacle out of it?” Jesé asks, not sticking around to wait for Toni’s answer. He takes out the brush from behind his ear and continues furiously painting a backdrop.

Isco, having watched the conversation play out in front of him, can’t help but grin at Toni’s blank expression. “See,” he says, from where he’s sitting on the edge of the stage, “I told you that you’d get used to Jesé’s suggestions soon enough. You didn’t even blink this time.”

“Small victories,” Toni mumbles, raising his mug in salute at Isco and downing his tea. Isco smiles, resisting the urge to pump his fist in the air when he sees that Toni still hasn’t bothered to buy another mug.

He stands up, walking towards the centre of the stage. The rehearsal is pretty much over, and he’s relieved that he knows all of his lines and movements for the entire first act. And who knew that it would be so much fun to repeatedly call Nacho ‘a slimy peasant’ and Nacho couldn’t do anything about it?

The decor crew is still working, the slamming sounds of the hammers echoing in the nearly empty theatre hall. Multiple paint buckets have fallen over already, and he thinks he saw Neymar walking around with warpaint streaks on his cheeks, and a headband which said _Commander of Paint and Artistry._ Isco likes him. He’s young, but his flair for the dramatic is developing steadily.

Dani, who plays Menenius, is sitting near the side of the stage, leaning against the thick bundle of the curtain. Isco sinks down onto the slick black wood, knocking his shoulder against Dani’s.

“How are your lines?” he asks, looking over Dani’s shoulder.

Dani holds the paper to the side, so Isco can read it better. “They’re okay. In the first part it’s mostly dialogue. The last part of the play is where I get more lines, because I’m trying to steer your sorry ass away from burning Rome.”

“In which you fail,” Isco smiles. “But there’s something I don’t really understand about the friendship between Coriolanus and Menenius.” He takes out his own page and shows a part of dialogue to Dani.

“What don’t you understand? You’re a dick, and people like me. Just like real life.”

“Hilarious,” Isco deadpans. “No, what I don’t get is that our characters are both from the higher classes, and we’re both in the Senate. And Coriolanus hates the poor people and the farmers, because they don’t join the army. But Menenius calms the people down and he likes them. I don’t really get why? Is it just because Menenius is nicer, or what?”

Dani shrugs. “I think you’re on the right track. Menenius does have a softer character than Coriolanus, so he thinks that everyone is a worthy citizen, even the ones that don’t fight in the army. But I also think that because Menenius is Senator of Rome, he already knows how important voters are. He’s just trying to keep everyone satisfied so they’ll stand behind him.”

“Oh right,” Isco nods, turning the page and looking for the right line, pointing at it. “Because here Coriolanus says that the people of the lower classes should be cleaning their faces and brushing their teeth for once. He thinks himself above them, and he wants to go back to Rome only having one ruler.”

“Yeah,” Dani nods, “But not necessarily himself, though. He’s fine with Menenius maybe becoming an Emperor, because he’d rather go back to his lifestyle before he got famous by taking Corioli all by himself.”

“Basically, he’s a dick but he’s not an I-want-world-domination kind of dick,” Isco nods, stealing Dani’s pen and scribbling it down in the margin. “Which is the best kind of dick you can be.”

“Dani, Isco, decor crew,” Toni calls from where he’s seated, “The school is closing in ten minutes, so if you could get your stuff, then we can all clear out of here. I’m sure everyone needs some time to get ready for the Winter Formal tonight?”

Sounds of affirmation rise up, and Toni nods. “I thought so. Well, thank you for all your hard work during today’s rehearsal. Things are really starting to come together. I hope you all have a nice night.”

Dani turns towards Isco. “Do you want a ride home? My mom lent me her car today since it’s been raining since this morning.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Isco shakes his head, standing up and wiping dust from his jeans. “I’ll just ride my bike. My hair’s gonna get wet underneath the shower anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Alright,” Dani smiles. “See you tonight!” he calls, grabbing his backpack and walking backstage.

“See you,” Isco grins, sitting down on the edge of the stage, looking at Toni’s back as his teacher is packing his bag.

His socked feet bang rhythmically against the side of the stage, and he looks around for his shoes lying around the theatre somewhere. “You’ll be pleased to know that your lead actor is completely dedicated to his role.”

“Is he?” Toni glances up towards him, a small smile on his lips. “I didn’t know nowadays dedication means sitting there doing nothing for the first fifteen minutes.”

“I was meditating,” Isco says, trying to ignore the lingering look Toni gives him. It messes up his heartbeats. “If you want me to be the best Coriolanus ever, you gotta give me a minute to get in the role. Otherwise you’ll just have a hyperactive version of me with a god complex.”

“Basically, what you mean is that we’ll see normal, every-day Isco?” 

“Shut up,” Isco laughs, flicking a paper airplane at Toni’s head. “Stop giving me insecurity issues. You’re gonna make me cry one day.”

“Oh, how the turntables…”

“When did I ever make you cry?” Isco huffs, crossing his arms. “I mean, look at me. I’m completely harmless. I once apologized to Cristiano’s hamster when it bit me.”

“On my first day, when you drew in my book. I got home and I saw that you also wrote _You make Kanye look like a Basic Bitch_ underneath a picture of Shakespeare. That made me cry,” Toni nods, crossing his arms.

“I was starting to wonder when you’d comment on that,” Isco grins. “But what made you cry, the writing in your book or that I compared Shakespeare to Kanye?”

Toni scoffs. “You and I both know that Shakespeare is Drake. Now, go get your shoes because the smell of your feet is going to knock me out.”

-

When he pushes the door open, he’s hit in the face with an absolute downpour. Quickly pulling the hood of his jacket over his head, Isco jogs over towards his bike. Fitting his keys in the lock, he pulls his bike out of the rack with a sharp tug and slings his leg over it. He doesn’t make it off the courtyard, the metal core of his back wheel hobbling over the cobblestones.

“Fuck!” Isco yells, the sound immediately swallowed by the loud thunder in the sky. He gets off of his bike and holds onto the steering wheel, kneeling down. Just like he expected, the thin tire is completely flat.

He quickly straightens himself, peering over towards the parking lot, but Dani’s car is already gone. “Typical,” he mutters to himself.

Hitching his bag higher onto his back, he locks up his bike and starts walking. He’ll ask his dad to pick up his bike tonight. If he walks fast enough, he might get home on time to take a shower and eat dinner before Cristiano arrives.

Raindrops fall from the tip of his nose, the fabric of his jacket is already completely soaked and sticks to his back. He hopes his bag is still slightly waterproof, otherwise his books are going to suffer.

His teeth quickly start to chatter and his fingers slightly tingle, the skin turning red. It’s late November already, and the cold water only adds to the chill in the air. Shivering, he ducks his face deeper in the collar of his jacket, trying to speed up his tempo.

A dark blue car passes him, and Isco looks at the bright red brake lights amidst the grey world. The car parks partially on the sidewalk, someone’s getting out of the driver’s seat. The person grabs an umbrella from the backseat and comes hurrying towards Isco, their feet making splashes on the ground.

“Toni?” Isco calls, recognising Toni’s blond hair, plastered against his forehead.

Toni comes closer until he’s near him, holding the umbrella over Isco’s head. It’s weirdly cosy like this, huddled together while the sky pours down around them.

“What’s the matter with you?” Toni breathes harshly, puffs of vapour leaving his lips. “Why are you walking in this weather? You could catch a serious cold!”

“It’s not like I knew my tire would go flat just when the sky decides to curl up in a ball and have a good cry,” Isco says, tugging his jacket closer around himself to stop the chattering of his teeth, but it doesn’t help much.

“Your tire?” Toni asks, confused. He looks past Isco at the schoolyard, spotting Isco’s bike and notices the flat tire. “Oh, right. I can see how that’s a problem.”

“You really think I’d go on a nice little stroll in this weather?” Isco grins, shaking his head.

“Well,” Toni shrugs, his smile brightening up Isco’s world, _since the sun is a lazy bitch today_ , “It’s you, so, I didn’t completely rule out the possibility.”

Isco rolls his eyes at him, but not too sarcastically because Toni’s still holding the umbrella that’s shielding him from the rain.

“For how long were you intending to walk, anyway?” Toni asks.

“I don’t know,” Isco twists his mouth, “It’s like seven streets so the bike ride usually takes ten minutes. Fifteen minute walk, I guess?”

“And a five minute car ride,” Toni declares, and he grabs Isco’s shoulder with one hand and steering him towards the car. “I’m not going to be responsible for my lead getting a lung infection.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to ride in your soccer mom car,” Isco frowns.

“What?”

Isco bursts out laughing at Toni’s affronted look, jogging towards the passenger side of the car. “God, that face! Dude, you could be driving a cardboard box with wheels and I’d still get in. Everything to get me home on time.”

He gets inside the car, cringing at the puddle of water his shoes leave on the neatly vacuumed floor. And then there’s the chair he’s sitting in, which probably already has his wet butt imprint on the fabric. _Fucking great._

Toni throws the umbrella on the floor of the backseat, and gets in behind the wheel.

“What is it?” he asks Isco, starting up the car again.

“I’m kinda wet,” Isco sighs, slouching in the chair. “I’m messing up your responsible-parent vehicle, I’m officially a child.”

Toni laughs, putting the car in the right gear and then _leaning really fucking far_ over in Isco’s space to tug his seatbelt loose, pulling it around his torso and clicking it in place. _And okay, wow, Toni smells really nice. Like, expensive as hell, what is that? Calvin Klein?_

Isco smiles awkwardly. “See, I even need you to put on my own seatbelt. I’m a mess.”

Toni’s cheeks are pink as he keeps his eyes on the road, driving onto the main street. “You’re fine. Which street do I have to go to? And why are you so adamant about getting home on time, though? The Winter Formal doesn’t start until nine tonight,” he asks.

Isco claps down the visor in front of him, groaning at his reflection in the small mirror and slamming it back up again. “546 Charter Lane. It’s because Cris is my date so when he arrives, the chance is pretty high he’s going to make me change outfits because he’s annoying like that.”

The car is comfortable, Isco will give Toni that. It’s pretty big, but it’s not like he really needs the space with his short ass legs so now the car is just making him insecure about his height.

When Toni doesn’t reply, Isco taps his elbow repeatedly. “Am I experiencing your rebooting process now?”

A smile cracks on Toni’s face. “I’ll put you out in the rain again, try me.”

“Nah, you won’t. You’re too much of a softie for that anyway. Everyone’s a sucker for my doe eyes.” Isco blinks exaggeratedly at Toni, who keeps his eyes straightforward on the road, but his fingers twitch on the steering wheel.

“So,” Toni clears his throat, “Cristiano is your date?”

“Yeah, he is. Why? It’s surprising that a specimen like him would go out with me?”

“No,” Toni quickly says, and Isco’s _so_ pleased about that quick reaction. “It’s just that I didn’t know you two were, erm, seeing each other? But it’s great for you two, congratulations. I’m sure you’ll look nice enough for him tonight.”

Isco presses his lips together, wanting to keep Toni in his weird belief, but he can’t handle it. He giggles uncontrollably. “Cris,” he hiccups, “and me? Geez, Toni! I thought you were there when I yelled that kissing Cris was like kissing my brother? Ugh, the idea makes me wanna puke.”

He looks sideways at Toni, who is steering the car into the right street. Toni’s lips are curved upwards in a small smile, and he looks like he isn’t trying to squeeze his steering wheel to pulp anymore.

“You’re never going to make me forget that, right?” Toni asks, meeting his eyes and Isco’s heart short circuits. “It’s not that big of a stretch, though, because you’re close and most people ask their crushes to the dance.”

Isco shrugs. “Cristiano didn’t even want to go at first, but then he decided to do it for me. After all, there’s no one else waiting in line to listen to my bad knock-knock jokes all night, or to dance awkwardly with me for three minutes before I make too much of a fool out of myself and they leave me there in the middle of the dance floor to die alone.”

Toni chuckles softly, shaking his head. He stops the car slowly in front of Isco’s house, pressing his hands together in his lap and turning towards him. “You do know it’s other people’s loss, right?” he asks, sounding way too serious.

“I’ll make sure to tell myself that when I cry myself to sleep at night,” Isco drawls. He knows he’s dodging his feelings by using humour, and he knows even better that Toni sees right through him, but it’s all he knows. He’s basically his own Chandler. “But thanks for the ride. Next time you should take a detour, so I can interview you about your pathetic love for German disco music.”

Toni gently grabs his wrist as Isco turns to open the car, so he turns back to meet Toni’s eyes.

“Isco, I mean it,” Toni says softly, still holding onto Isco’s wrist. Toni’s fingers are warm on his cool skin. “You’re worth far more than to worry about little things like not having a date for a dance. And—no, don’t interrupt me, because I know deep down you do care. Everyone cares. Like, I get that high school seems like the most important thing at this point in your life, and that going to the dance with the hottest guy or girl in the school is like getting the Nobel Prize. But at the end of this spring, you’ll be standing up there on that stage and you’ll get your diploma. And trust me, by then none of this will matter. The only thing you’ll remember is going through high school with one of the best friends you can have, someone who auditions for plays with you and who goes to dances with you because he cares. And those high grades of yours will get you into the school of your dreams, and that’s when real life actually starts. So don’t worry about high school, it’s just a practice round for—I can’t believe I’m actually saying this—basic bitches to have their shot, before the world will belong to people like you.”

Isco knows his fingers are trembling, and he knows Toni can feel it from where he’s still holding his wrist. But he can’t help it, because somehow, this teacher who he has only known for two and a half months now, knows exactly the right words that he needed to hear the past few years. Toni gets him, and it feels exhilarating and scary at the same time. Because this isn’t supposed to happen, right? People shouldn’t be able to read each other like this after such a short while. But Toni does, and all Isco can think about is that he wishes Toni would hold onto him even harder.

“Thanks,” he croaks out, giving Toni a small smile. “It’s nice to hear that from someone who isn’t your mom. Makes it easier to believe.”

“I can tell it to you every day until you believe it.”

Which is, _wow_. That’s some fucking dedication and affection right there, and Isco sees that Toni realises the gravity of his words as well. And he waits for Toni to take them back, to crack a joke at how that could’ve come straight out of a Nicholas Sparks book, but Toni does no such thing. He actually said it and owns up to it.

Isco smiles again, not trusting his words to be coherent, so he opens the door of the car and slides out. “Thanks for the ride. Sorry about the mess.” He doesn’t know if he means the water or himself. Probably both?

“It’s okay, don’t worry about the mess. I’ll take care of it.”

 _God_ , Isco hopes Toni means both as well.

-

He leans against the front door for a few seconds after he’s closed it, wondering if he hadn’t imagined the way Toni had looked and talked to him. It seems unreal. No one’s ever taken such interest in him before. Yeah, he recognised Toni was handsome as fuck when he first saw him but that’s just objective observation. Nowadays he talks to Toni nearly every day, and it’s not even on purpose. They just seem to run into each other all the time, and they always have something to say to each other.

He also values Toni’s opinion way more than the opinion of his other teachers, and even some of his friends! Cristiano used to be the only person in his list of top ten priorities, but now Toni has found his way up there somewhere as well. Toni made pizza fall outside the boat, and Isco fucking loves pizza.

His desire for Toni’s approval is off the charts as well. And it’s stupid shit, too, like, the other day he showed Toni a really funny cat vine and they ended up discussing it for the full two minutes he had in between classes. He came late, got detention, and didn’t give a shit because Toni liked the cat vine.

He would call Toni a friend in a heartbeat, no doubt. And that’s a nice character trait and all, being able to trust people quickly and establishing a bond. But Toni is his _teacher_. It’s like that power imbalance between them never existed in the first place, and the power imbalance is probably one of the most important components of the whole student-teacher-relationship equation-thingy.

The conclusion, after a few minutes of pondering, is that no one else should know about this, because it’s pretty easy to draw the wrong conclusion. Isco does not _like_ his Drama teacher.

Maybe only when he smiles. Or looks at him. _Whatever._  

-

Luckily, at dinner all his mom can talk about is how happy she is that he’s doing so well with the rehearsals and that he deserves to have fun tonight. After which she starts listing all the rules about how much he’s allowed to drink (absolutely nothing, _boo!_ ), how late he’s supposed to be home and how he has to make sure that his tie is straight at all times, otherwise the pictures will be ruined. His mom takes these things very seriously.

After dinner, he goes up to his room and listens to the radio as he lays his suit out on his bed. His hair is almost dry from the shower he took before dinner, and he’s determined as he sets out on his quest to an acceptable hairstyle. And fifteen minutes later, it actually looks like something. Isco doesn’t know _what_ it looks like, but Cristiano will probably tell him.

The fabric of the white dress shirt is cold and stiff against his chin, and the tie around his neck feels like a hand that can start choking him at any given moment. He looks good, though, he thinks as he twists and turns in front of the mirror. Taking the black jacket from the hanger, he pushes his arms into the sleeves and tugs it straight, doing the buttons up.

He has a pair of black, leather dress shoes, from that one wedding of his weird hippie aunt, so he pulls those onto his feet.

“Well,” he tells his reflection, “I guess this is as close as we’ll ever get to looking like James Bond, so we’ll just have to live with it.”

He dabs a little bit of cologne onto his cheeks, before sniffing and furiously rubbing a towel over his skin to get rid of the overbearing smell. Downstairs, the bell rings and Isco hears his mother opening the door, talking to Cristiano.

That’s at least one of the perks of having your best friend as your date, there’s none of that nervousness, wondering whether or not they’ll show up, and Cristiano’s like a second son so it’s not awkward for his parents either.

Isco grabs his phone and his wallet, putting them in the inside pocket of his jacket, and he walks down the stairs.

Cristiano grins up at him, whistling softly. “Looking good,” he says, when Isco’s downstairs. “Just let me—” he mumbles, casually reaching up to fix Isco’s hair for way shorter than usual, so Isco definitely counts that as a win.

“You look gorgeous, so, boring as hell in your case,” Isco says, but he hugs Cristiano anyway because he’s his best friend and he’s going to the dance with him. Cristiano hugs back tightly, giving him a smile that just says _I got you._

His father comes thundering down the stairs, his face red. “It took me a while, but I found the camera,” he smiles brightly, holding it up. “And even though your pictures are literally already hanging in our hallway, Cristiano, you two should pose for a few, right?”

“It’s a dance, dad,” Isco rolls his eyes, “Prom’s another few months down the road.”

“Well, then think of this as a practice session,” his father huffs, unperturbed.

“Practice sessions are for basic bitches,” Isco grins, remembering Toni’s words of that afternoon.

They end up doing a few cliché poses in front of the fireplace and the wall with pictures, which includes some embarrassing childhood photos of both of them. His mother yells ideas and directions over his father’s shoulder, and that is why they end up with a picture where Isco is lying on the floor with his legs in the air, supporting Cristiano’s back as he leans backwards. If his mother puts that one up on Facebook, he’ll grab his bag and become a teenage runaway. He could do it, for maybe two days.

Once they’re in the car, they drive through the neighbourhood quickly, picking up Dani, Nacho and James. Dani brought a bottle of vodka, and they’re passing it between the three of them, as Cristiano is the designated driver and James is boring. Dani and Nacho are each other’s dates, but when Isco asks about whether they’re going together as a _date-date_ , he gets such a furious look from both of them, he doesn’t dare ask further. He and Cris still make a bet over it, though.

Isco knows he’s a lightweight, but somehow his hands never listen to his brain and he maybe takes too many sips of vodka, because he’s already a giggling mess by the time they arrive at the school.

“So I guess I’ll have to carry your drunk ass up the stairs again tonight, hm?” Cristiano asks, helping him out of his seat.

“No,” Isco smiles, “I’ll ask Toni to do it for me.”

Cristiano keeps a steadying hand on Isco’s elbow, even though he’s still walking and seeing straight. “I’m pretty sure that’s not in Toni’s job description.”

“On a scale from 1 to 10, how inappropriate is it to ask your teacher to grind against you to Beyoncé’s music?” Isco asks, tugging his jacket close and doing the buttons up.

“Isco,” Cristiano replies.

“What is it?” he asks.

“No, it’s the level of inappropriate. Isco-level exceeds 10 by a fucking mile.”


	6. Cristiano II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the Winter Formal.

Cristiano turns his plastic cup around between his fingers, lifting it to his lips and drinking the last bit of the alcohol-free punch. It has so much sugar in it that he only feels more thirsty after emptying the cup.

The silver disco ball is slowly turning above the dance floor, where most of the people are dancing to poorly remixed pop songs. He personally prefers R&B, but he’s not a snob so he’ll sing and nod along to the music. Isco’s still on the dance floor, throwing crazy shapes in various directions now that he’s not there to lead him into an actual dance anymore.

He keeps an eye out for his friend, though, because Isco’s had maybe had one sip too much from Dani’s vodka, and he doesn’t want the teachers to notice. Luckily, if you don’t look too closely, nothing seems off about Isco because everyone basically expects him to act like that on the dancefloor.

“Hi!” Luka says, sinking down in the chair next to Cristiano. “You taking a breather as well?” He takes a long gulp from his drink, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Yeah,” Cris grins, nodding towards Isco, who was horribly failing his attempt at moonwalking, “Couldn’t keep up with Michael Jackson over there.”

“Tell me about it,” Luka smiles, reaching over the table to grab some pretzels from a star-shaped bowl. “What do you think?” he asks, gesturing around him to the fully decorated gym.

“Looks amazing,” Cristiano says, craning his neck to look at the large cottonwool clouds hanging from the ceiling. “How’d you get those clouds so big, though?”

Luka holds his hands up in his face. “Gluing everything together. I still can’t feel my fingertips because they’re still covered in that stuff.”

Grabbing Luka’s hands, Cristiano lays them on his lap and starts peeling the dried glue from Luka’s fingertips, the layer coming off easily.

“What are you doing, painting Luka’s nails?” Nacho asks, also sitting down at the table with Dani in tow.

“He’s peeling the glue off of my fingers. My hard work is the reason you guys can party in such a fabulous winter wonderland, so a little appreciation would be nice,” Luka says, inspecting Cristiano’s work and giving him a bright smile.

“Besides,” Cristiano says, turning in his chair to face his friends. “It’s either this or join Isco on the dancefloor.”

Dani rolls his eyes. “I think he broke my back when he suddenly started to do the shimmy-shimmy with me,” he says, stretching his arms above his head and groaning.

“Ten bucks says he’ll drag one of the teachers out on the dancefloor to teach them how to twerk,” Cristiano says, shooting Isco a thumbs up when his friend looks over. Isco waves back enthusiastically, knocking Maria’s hat off in the process.

“Nah, doesn’t count,” Nacho says, frowning at his empty cup. “He already danced with Sergio. It wasn’t twerking though, but still, the bet’s too easy.”

“You’re probably right.” Cristiano stands up. “I’m going to get something to drink, this stuff makes my mouth feel like sandpaper. You guys want anything?”

“Anything is fine,” Dani says, and the rest nods along.

Cristiano gathers the empty cups and throws them into one of the exaggeratedly decorated bins along the side of the gym. He weaves his way through the throng of people, saying his “hi’s” and “looking great’s” to a few of his teammates.

As he walks over towards the refreshments table, he sees Mr. Bale hurriedly pushing drinks into waiting hands, and Cristiano has to laugh at the high flush on his English teacher’s cheeks.

“Please tell me it’s just you,” Mr. Bale says, noticing Cristiano.

“Sorry,” Cristiano shrugs, grinning. “Four cups of whatever you have. I’m sure they’re not picky.”

“Well, I’m sure someone just spilled their drink on me and they lied when they said it was an accident. This sugar-y stuff can knock out an elephant, and now I smell like I’ve luxuriously bathed in it.”

“Well, the smell’s not bad at least,” Cristiano says, but it’s not like he can really tell from over here.

Mr. Bale gives him a _yeah, right_ look, but grabs one of the trays and loads four drinks on top of it. “Here you go. I want that tray back, Cristiano, it was a present from my mother.”

Cristiano looks at the tray, covered in little drawings of sheep. “Cute,” he remarks dryly.

“If you’re going to be a brat about it, you can carry those four drinks by yourself,” Mr. Bale warns, but he’s grinning that grin where his entire face nearly gets swallowed up by his huge smile.

“Oh, I better look out then,” Cristiano says jokingly, quickly making his way through the crowd again, lifting the tray high above his head in case someone bumps into him.

When he gets back to the table, Isco is draped face first over three chairs, holding a cold looking bottle of wine against the back of his head. His face is mushed in the crook of his elbow, and Cristiano hears the painful sounds increase as he gets closer.

“What happened?” he asks, putting the tray down on the table and taking a sip from his drink. He crouches down near Isco, teasingly blowing in his ear and making his friend startle.

“I think he slipped,” Luka says, sipping from his own drink. “But I couldn’t really hear what he was saying through all those whining sounds.”

“I fell on my butt,” Isco pouts, supporting his chin with the palm of his hand.

Cristiano grins. “Those things can happen when you’re a lightweight and a hazard on the dancefloor. But remember, it’s not about how many times you fall, it’s about how many times you get back onto your feet.”

“What shitty romance movie is that from?” Dani frowns.

Nacho scoffs. “Every single one, probably.”

But Isco gives him a bright smile. “Thanks, Cris. I was looking for you, was gonna invite you to play beerpong with Leo and Jesé.”

Cristiano frowns. “No.” He takes a big sip from his drink.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll make a bet out of it and then you can make Leo do something really embarrassing in the middle of the gym, it’ll become your best memory ever.”

He gives Isco a small smile, wondering if _now_ is maybe the time to tell him why he’s been avoiding Leo for the past few weeks. But his friend is drunk and happy, and he’s not going to be the one to put a damper on his evening. Besides, he’s pretty sure everything between him and Leo is completely done after that fight they had, so telling Isco now wouldn’t help them both in any way.

“We can’t play beerpong, Isco,” he says, trading his fingers through his friend’s short, black hair. “There’s teachers around.”

“Not in the back left corner,” Isco says, lifting his head and looking at Cris. “Mr. Zidane went to help at the drinks table because Mr. Bale couldn’t handle it on his own.”

“Just play one game,” Dani shrugs. “Shouldn’t take that long and you might even get to humiliate Messi.”

“Fine,” Cristiano sighs, dragging Isco to his feet and checking the back of his head. Other than a small bump, his friend seems fine. “Let’s do this, and you better make sure your aim’s as good now as when you’re sober.”

“Please,” Isco laughs, “My aim’s fucking awesome all the time.”

-

_It fucking isn’t. It really fucking is not._

“Oh my God,” Cristiano sighs, lifting his eyes skyward as Isco throws yet another ball way across the gym. _Is he aiming at Toni, because what the fuck?_

Leo is snickering behind his hand, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of getting the opportunity to make Cristiano do anything. Fucking asshole.

“What?” Leo grins, raising his eyebrows at the murderous glare Cristiano sends his way. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You better keep it that way,” Cristiano huffs, frowning when Leo throws the white plastic ball into a cup with a perfect curve. Cristiano downs the drink with a grimace, feeling Jesé’s strong liquor sliding down his throat. He really needs to keep it at one game if he wants to drive his friends home tonight, so he apologetically slides most of the drinks over to Isco. He doesn’t really feel that apologetic though, because Isco’s the reason they’re losing this game in the first place.

Right now, his friend is drunkenly trash talking to Jesé, who shouts back just as hard. Cristiano glances over at Leo, who just watches them with an amused smile on his face. He’s being weird tonight, Cristiano thinks. He hasn’t said anything insulting to him yet, and he actually wipes the little ball clean for him after every throw. Cristiano’s not easily lured into this false sense of calmness though, figuring Leo’s just gearing himself up to humiliate him ever harder when the game ends.

So Cristiano squares his shoulders when Isco misses the last throw, turning towards Leo. “Unsurprisingly, you won. So, let me have it.”

Leo smiles, his eyes briefly casting towards the floor as he steps closer to Cristiano. He lifts them back up, their eyes meeting. “I want you to dance with me.”

Cristiano feels his fingertips turning cold. “What?” he replies evenly, staring hard at Leo.

“Dance with me,” Leo repeats. He wiggles his finger in front of Cristiano’s face. “Remember, you can’t say no.”

Cristiano steps closer, his nose catching on to the fresh scent of Leo’s cologne. “You’re about four months too late to ask me to dance with you.”

“Better late than never,” Leo says, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the dancefloor. Cristiano wants to yank his hand out of Leo’s grip, but causing a scene might do more harm than one stupid dance, so he straightens his back.

Once they’re in the middle of the dance floor, thankfully shielded by the other couples dancing, Leo steps closer and winds his arms around Cristiano’s neck. Clenching his jaw at the slight shiver that goes down his spine, Cristiano lets his hands drop on the small of Leo’s back.

He tries to focus on Mariah Carey’s words that echo through the speakers, trying to pinpoint when the song is going to end, when Leo suddenly speaks up. “I’m sorry I tricked Isco into this. I knew he wasn’t going to help you win.”

Cristiano frowns, because _the fuck?_ “Why did you want me to play the game?”

Leo shrugs. “I knew that I could get you alone for a few minutes if I won, so…”

“Schemer,” Cristiano mumbles, resisting the smile threatening to break on his lips at Leo’s flushed cheeks.

“It’s not like you’d agree if I asked you to come with me,” Leo says, frowning.

“True,” Cristiano shrugs, holding onto his own wrists to keep his hands firmly on Leo’s back. “But isn’t forcing me to slow dance with you a little threatening to that whole straight image you have going on, hm?”

“Everyone thinks I’m doing it to mess with you, and to get you angry. They won’t think twice about it,” Leo mumbles, not meeting Cristiano’s eyes.

“Everyone, huh?” Cristiano asks. “But what about you? Why are you doing this?”

“I guess I just wanted to talk to you, about, you know—”

The lighting switches back to bright colours, and suddenly Queen is blaring through the speakers. Couples break apart and everyone starts dancing wildly again. Cristiano untangles his hands and steps back.

“There, you had your dance,” he says, turning to walk away and find out if Isco hadn’t accidently drowned himself in the punch bowl.

“Cris,” Leo says, grabbing his wrist and holding onto him. “I just want to talk to you for a bit. Can we go someplace quieter, I can’t hear myself think in here.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” Cristiano says, and he hears how bratty it sounds. He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. It can’t be worse than dancing with you, so you have another five minutes.”

Leo sends him a relieved look, which he refuses to feel happy about. He follows Leo as he pushes his way through the people towards the swinging doors of the gym. Cristiano doesn’t look back to see if anyone’s noticing them leave together.

-

Just like the gym, the hallways are decorated as well. White, glittering strings are taped along the tops of the lockers, and Christmas lights are twirled around a bust of the school’s founder, Mr. Nickerson. There are a few groups of people standing around, some of them sit in circles on the floor which is covered in fake snow. Cristiano notices a girl from his biology class quizzically looking at him and Leo, since they’re walking together and aren’t arguing.

“Do you, erm, want to walk a bit further?” Leo asks him, and Cristiano meets his eyes. “It’s still a little crowded here.”

Cristiano nods towards the end of the hallway. “It’s quieter over there.”

There’s a bench faced towards the window, overlooking the courtyard. Everyone calls it the Bitch Bench  because during school days it’s always occupied by the same group of girls, gossiping and judging everyone who walks past outside.

Cristiano sits down with his back towards the hallway, and studies Leo’s face as he also sits down. He looks kind of uncomfortable and all Cristiano can think is: _Same._

“Well,” he says, not taking his eyes off Leo. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about? And if you dragged me all the way here just to talk about a new line-up, I’m seriously going to injure you in the next training.”

“I don’t want to talk about football,” Leo says, and Cristiano watches the way the Christmas lights make the glass of Leo’s watch shimmer. He wishes he brought his camera.

“What is it then? I’m not going to sit and wait here forever.”

“I guess,” Leo says, looking straight at him. “I owe you an apology.”

 _Wait, what?_ Cristiano turns his head away, looking at the rain that still splatters against the window. _Why would Leo all of a sudden want to apologize to him? They’ve hardly spoken over the past few weeks._

“Why now?” he asks, but then adds, “And what are you apologising for?”

“I knew that I had to apologize ever since we had to hang up those posters,” Leo answers, ignoring Cristiano’s second question. “And you know me, my pride kinda matches yours so it took me a while to get around to the actual apology. But y’know, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Cristiano mumbles. “I guess it explains why you haven’t been that big of an asshole lately. Still, this vague-ass apology took a bit long.”

“But do you accept it?” Leo asks, impatiently. His eyes are slightly glowing in the dark light, and Cristiano looks right back at him.

“I don’t know,” he huffs, “What is it that you’re apologising for, Leo? Are you apologising for that first time before the break? When I scored the winning penalty and you made sure we were the only ones left in the locker room so you could jump me? Or are you apologising for each time during this summer, when you couldn’t just leave it alone and kept coming back? _What are you apologising for?_ ”

“Should I apologize for that first time?” Leo retorts immediately, his eyes scanning Cristiano’s face. “You seemed pretty into it, after all.”

Cristiano rolls his eyes. “Of course I was into it. And I was into it every time since then, but that doesn’t matter here. I want to know if you should apologize for _why_ you did it. What was the reason?”

“You know the reason.”

“I have a pretty good idea, yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”

“Fine,” Leo says, his hand shooting out to grab Cristiano’s, squeezing tightly. “Every time I did it was because I wanted to have the upper hand over you. You’re always so fucking calm and collected, and you saved the team that first time, and I didn’t want you to forget that _I’m always there_. I’ve always been right there. I didn’t want you to forget who pushed you to be this good, because I’m the only person in the whole team that can rile you up to do even better than you think is possible. You depend on me, Cris, and I didn’t—I _don’t_ want you to forget that.”

Cristiano digs his teeth in his bottom lip, watching the skin turn white where Leo has grabbed onto his hand. “You wanted to have something over me, wanted me to know my place, is that it?”

“Yes,” Leo mutters. “And yes, that’s something I have to apologize for. But you know just as well as I do that it’s true. We owe each other a big fucking deal for being the players who we are.”

Cristiano looks away, trying to stop the warmth breaking out through his body at the intensity of Leo’s gaze. “What else? You have another thing to apologize for?”

He says it in a sarcastic tone, lightly shrugging, because he knows this apology is already the biggest apology Leo’s made since, probably forever. Cristiano knows that he wouldn’t be able to say sorry for another thing. But then he looks sideways again, and Leo’s expression tells him all he needs to know.

“You do have something else you wanna say,” he says softly, turning his body towards Leo to catch every twitch of his lips or the fluttering of his eyelids.

“Did you hear that?” Leo suddenly asks, looking over his shoulder. “I think someone was there. I saw a shadow on that wall.”

“I don’t care,” Cristiano says, feeling bold and prying his hand loose from Leo’s tight grip. He brings it up to Leo’s face, turning his face towards him by a finger to his chin. “What else you have to say, then?”

Leo looks very apprehensive, more so than before. But just because Leo’s uncomfortable, doesn’t mean that he avoids the confrontation, and Cristiano swallows hard when Leo’s determined look settles on him.

“I think,” Leo’s mouth twitches slightly, “that you were right when you called me a hypocrite the other day.”

For a second, Cristiano is highly confused because when did he call Leo a hypocrite, again? But then he remembers the conversation, he called Leo a hypocrite because he refused to admit he felt any attraction to him. _Oh, fuck._ If Leo now says he’s right, then that means he’s admitting that he feels attracted to him, to a guy. _Oh, fucking fuck._ So does that mean—

“Are you coming out to me?” Cristiano asks, voice level. _Because what the actual fuck is happening here? People come out to their best friend first, or their parents. Not their mortal enemy since kindergarten!_

“I… I guess I am,” Leo mumbles, averting his eyes, _and thank God for that_ because Cristiano feels like he can finally breathe normally.

“God, Leo,” he sighs, perching his elbow on the backrest of the bench, letting his forehead drop into his hand. “This is fucked up. Why are you telling _me_ this?”

“Because it’s your fault I’m confused as hell!” Leo says loudly, quickly looking around to make sure no one heard him. He sighs deeply, a flash of insecurity waving over his face. And for a second, Cristiano feels bad for him, because he knows what it’s like. Those first months after realising you might not be what you always thought you were can be tough, especially if there’s no one around to help you go through it. At least he had Isco, who could seriously give crash-courses on _How to handle your sexuality_ , because he literally dragged him through it in the best way possible. He’s pretty sure that even though Leo has loads of friends; he doesn’t have a friend like that.

Cristiano sighs. “I’m sorry for messing with your head. At least I didn’t do it on purpose. You were gonna find out sooner or later, anyway.”

“It’s just,” Leo looks like he wants to jump out of his own skin. “I don’t know how to deal with this shit, man. I’m not even a hundred percent sure? Just the thought of telling my parents makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

“Hey,” Cristiano says, softening his tone. Leo might be a dick, but he knows how hard this can be, so he can’t find it in himself to shove Leo away and tell him to sort his own mess out. “Hey,” he says again, turning Leo towards him by his shoulders. “Listen to me. No one’s saying anything about telling your parents, don’t worry about that. And don’t you think that being confused is normal? Some people spend half of their lifetimes in denial, Leo.”

“I know that,” Leo nods, “But I’m just so sick of feeling confused. Right now, I just want to know for sure and then I guess I’ll deal with the rest later.”

Cristiano shrugs. “Well, I guess you could solve the confusion by watching porn, reading shit on the internet, maybe go to a few gay bars.”

“Do you really think I can get into a bar?” Leo asks, raising his eyebrows at Cristiano.

“Sure,” Cristiano shrugs. “You’re short as hell but most bars are fine if you go inside, as long as you don’t order any alcohol.”

Leo still looks a little hesitant, and Cristiano recognises it. Leo wants to back out, because actually making the plans to sort out the confusion can seem like giving in somehow.

 _Oh, no._ It’s like he can feel the thought starting to form inside his head, feel the sparks inside his cranial nerves until he voices the thought out loud.

“If you want, I could go with you.”

_What the fuck, why is he saying this? Why can’t he say ‘Good luck with your whole sexual identity crisis, let me know how it goes’?_

But there’s relief on Leo’s face, and Cristiano realises that was maybe the whole point of Leo’s apology in the first place. He wants his help but he was too proud to ask for it.

“If you want to,” Leo shrugs, faking nonchalance.

 _That sneaky bastard_. 

Cristiano narrows his eyes at him, trying to think of any perks he will get from this. He might get to watch Leo blush and stumble over his words when a guy chats him up. _Meh, it’s something._

He sighs. “Fine. We’ll go this weekend. But if you piss me off again then you can go by yourself, and I won’t even feel bad about it.”

_He would, but Leo doesn’t have to know that._

-

They separate as soon as they get back to the gym, and Cristiano lets his gaze linger as he follows Leo’s movement through the crowd.

Releasing a deep sigh, he walks over towards the table where most of his friends are sprawled out over the chairs. He claps Nacho on the back, stealing his friend’s drink and taking a large gulp of the sparkly cider.

The largest absentee is Isco, and Cristiano turns his head to look at the dancefloor. It’s quite dark, a few blue lights are flashing as everyone sings along to _Waterfalls_. This song is Isco’s jam (he has, like, five thousands jams, so the category has gotten kind of useless), but he can’t spot his friend amidst the crowd.

“Hey, have you guys seen Isco?” he asks his friends.

Dani shakes his head. “I thought he was with you. But if he wasn’t then he’s been gone for quite a while now. He missed every song between ’75 and ’85. He’s going to be devastated when he finds out he wasn’t there when they played _Radio Gaga_. He’d practiced a whole routine, and all.”

“He’s probably outside,” Luka suggests. “It’s really hot in here, and you know how Isco’s head always blows up like a hot-air balloon when he dances.”

Cristiano grins, nodding. “I’ll go look. We should go home soon, anyway. Dani, Nacho, you better be on time for practice tomorrow.”

“Saturday training should be illegal,” Dani hums. “Just go find Isco. He was pretty smashed already, so maybe he’s gotten lost in the cloakroom on his way outside.”

“Possible,” Cristiano nods. “I’ll see you guys at the car, then.”

He walks towards the door of the gym, spotting Leo at one of the tables, laughing loudly with Marc. He nods at him, and Leo even slightly smiles. _What is happening to the world?_

The cloakroom is empty, so at least Isco hasn’t gotten lost in there. He grabs his own coat and searches for Isco’s, but it’s gone already. Pushing the door open, he tugs his coat tighter around his body as he steps outside.

It stopped raining, but the wind is still chilly. He doesn’t spot anyone sitting on the benches and the parking lot is empty of people as well.

Walking around the building, he spots two figures underneath a lamppost. He recognises Isco’s silhouette, so Cristiano walks towards him, taking his car keys out of his pocket.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you. You ready to go?” he asks, as he walks closer. It’s only when he’s standing underneath the light of the lamppost as well, that he sees Toni standing next to Isco. Toni’s face is as white as a sheet and Isco’s eyes are red-rimmed and watery.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, sending Toni a confused look.

Toni clears his throat, looking a little unsettled and nodding curtly at Cristiano. “Everything’s fine, Cristiano. I think you should take Isco home.”

Cristiano nods slowly, looking at Isco. “Are you alright?”

Isco sniffs, “Let’s just leave,” he says, his vowels slurring together and he stalks away, holding his hand against the side of the building to steady himself.

“What happened out here?” Cristiano asks, turning towards Toni.

“Nothing,” Toni answers quickly. “But, erm, you should talk to him tomorrow morning. He overheard you talking to Messi earlier.” Toni gives him a tight-lipped smile, looking like he’s about to jump out of his skin, and he goes back inside.

Cristiano sighs, leaning against the brick wall. _Fuck. As if this night hadn’t been complicated enough._


	7. Toni II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toni's POV during the night of the Winter Formal.

Toni is standing in the hallway of his apartment, hands digging into his pockets to see if he has everything with him. Keys, phone, wallet, they’re all there. Pushing the cuff of his dark blue dress shirt back, he glances at his watch. It’s almost a quarter past eight, and he’s supposed to be there half an hour before the students are set to arrive. He’s on cloakroom duty, so his evening should be relatively calm. At least he’s not responsible for the refreshments or the music, he’s not sure if he could handle the stress after the day he’s already had.

The elevator is humming softly as it makes its way down to the parking garage. Toni thinks about this afternoon, when he brought Isco home through the rain. It’s not like he broke some sort of major no-no rule, but something still doesn’t sit right with him. He knows he wouldn’t have done it for just any student, but this was _Isco_ and the thought of Isco walking alone through a downpour and maybe not making it to the Winter Formal in time made every protective button in his body set off. He can’t describe the way he feels, but it’s like every student in the school is a gritty black-and-white person and Isco is a kaleidoscope of colors.

He beeps his car open and gets behind the wheel. Clicking his phone into the holder, he dials his parents’ home number and drives out of the parking garage. The GPS on his dashboard tells him he’ll be perfectly on time, and he listens to the monotone beep until his mother picks up.

“Toni!” she says, her German voice sounding warm and familiar through the tinny sound of the speaker

“ _Hallo mama_ ,” Toni smiles. “I don’t have a lot of time, I’m in the car right now. Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. _Hast du schon das Geschenk bekommen was ich dir gesendet hatte_?”

“Yes, I got your gift,” his mom laughs through the phone, “ _Das ist zu viel_ , dear, really! These plane tickets must have cost you a fortune.”

Toni shrugs, adjusting the gear and speeding up a little. “It’s alright, if you book them in advance they’re not that expensive. Besides, you deserve to see a bit of the world now that I’m not keeping you in Germany anymore,” he smiles.

“You never kept me in Germany, I wanted to stay,” his mother says, the accusing but fond tone evident in her voice. “ _Am Ende Juni_ , you’re still working then?”

“Yes, the last week,” Toni says, a little distracted as he tries to pay attention to the right exit. He flicks on his indicator and switches lanes. “I thought you and dad could come see the play.”

“ _Wir würden uns freuen euch zu besuchen_! And the hotel you picked is very nice,” His mother gushes, “How are the students? Are they practicing well? Lord knows I always had to put your Nintendo away before you finally started studying your lines.”

Toni laughs, teenage embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “Nah, they’re great. The lead is very dedicated, a sweet kid, really.”

“I’m glad to hear that, honey,” she says, “Your dad and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Do you want to talk to him or your grandmother? They’re both eating their cake but I’m sure you could—”

Toni turns his car into the school parking lot, waving at one of his colleagues who’s already making her way to the gym. “I’d love to, mom,” he cuts in, “But I just got to the school to supervise a dance, so I have to go.”

“Alright, Toni,” he can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m glad you’re happy and busy, _ich hoffe du hast eine schöne Nacht_.”

“You, too,” Toni says, taking his key out of the ignition and unbuckling. “Say hi to everyone from me.”

His mother promises she will and she ends the call. Toni grabs his phone out of the holder, putting it back in the inside pocket of his coat, and he steps out of the car into the chilly night.

 Mrs. Roccuzzo is standing in the hallway, a clipboard firmly held in her grip. “Evening, Toni,” she smiles, glancing down at the paper. “I think everything’s set up in the cloakroom, there’s a coffee machine two doors down and you’re free to help out anywhere else when the dance has started.”

“I’ve got another thirty minutes, right?” Toni asks, glancing at the clock hanging in the hallway. He pities the person who has to clean up all the fake snow on the floor and untangle the Christmas lights around Mr. Nickerson’s statue.

Mrs. Roccuzzo glances at her watch, nodding. “I think the first ones will arrive in fifteen minutes. And if you see anyone dragging in crates of beer or other liquor, you should inform me.”

“Will do,” Toni nods, walking off to the other entrance, through which the students will enter later tonight.

There is a long table set up, with the rows of coat racks behind it. The hangers for the coats have numbers on them, and a matching coin with the same number is looped around the metal hook.

He spends his fifteen minutes rearranging the racks and creating a system in his head so that he won’t forget where he put which rack. He’s pretty sure he’s giving the racks a death stare, trying to wrack his brain to come up with a solution. Downing his first cup of coffee of the night, he scribbles some pointers on a paper and sits down in the chair.

The door swings open and the first few students arrive. They’re not in his class, but Toni’s seen them around the school. He takes their coats, hangs them up and gives them the metal coins, sternly ordering them not to lose them.

After that, everyone blurs together and he just goes through the movements of picking up cold coats and warm scarves and putting them on the hangars. He doesn’t see anyone carrying alcohol, so at least he won’t have to deal with any drunk teenagers.

_Of course. There is always his own exception._

Isco walks in, his coat hanging open around his suit. He’s tugging on his tie and messing it up horribly while he tells Cristiano that: “ _No,_ Han Solo would beat Indiana Jones any day of the week, and Jesus, Cris, what’s happened to your judgment?”

 _Wait, since when does he refer to Isco as_ his _?_

“Toni!”

Toni is shaken out of his thoughts, _which were pretty disturbing, because what the hell?_ , and he looks up at Isco, who is grinning at him.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. _Act normal._ “Can I take your coat?”

“Sure,” Isco nods energetically, wrestling himself out of his coat. His pupils are blown wide, and his lips are shiny pink. _Stop looking at his lips!_

“Have you been drinking?” Toni asks suspiciously, taking Isco’s coat and grabbing a hanger.

Isco giggles. “Just a bit,” he says, holding his thumb and index-finger slightly apart. “But I promise to behave, you won’t even notice that I’m here.” He tugs his scarf loose and gives it to Toni as well.

Toni stuffs the scarf in the sleeve of Isco’s coat, hanging it up around the hanger and flicking the little coin at him, but Isco fails miserably at catching it out of the air.

Cristiano bends down to pick up the coin and puts it carefully in Isco’s pocket. Looking over at Toni, he gives him an apologetic smile. “I promise he won’t give anyone any troubles tonight.”

Toni holds up his hands. “He’s your responsibility, have fun.” He picks up Cristiano’s coat and gives him his coin.

“I’d appreciate if someone could take him off my hands sometime this evening though,” Cristiano announces to his group of friends still taking off their coats, and Toni has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying _Sure, I’d love to._

After Isco and Cristiano disappear into the gym, everything fades back together and Toni’s hands feel like they weigh twenty pounds each by the time everyone is inside. At least he only has to hand over the hangers when the students pick them up at the end of the night, because his fingers are completely cramped.

He slides the coatracks next to each other and walks around the table. The doors of the gym are closed, but when he opens them and steps inside, the music hits him square in the face. The low bass reverberates through his body and he needs a solid thirty seconds to take in his surroundings.

The dancefloor is in the middle of the gym, and most of the students are already going crazy on hits from the 70’s.

“Oh, dear Lord,” he mutters, spotting Jesé holding onto his ankle and wildly kicking around with his knee while other people try to avoid him. Isco is twirling pirouettes around him, holding onto Cristiano’s hand and dragging his friend along. Toni laughs when Cristiano stumbles over his feet, almost crashing into one of the teachers.

Gareth suddenly pops up next to him, breathing hard and his arms are filled with stacks of plastic cups. “I’m going to faint,” he pants. “Why are teenagers so thirsty?”

“Need a hand?” Toni offers, fearing Gareth will pass out any second now. He grabs the cardboard box Gareth was kicking ahead with his foot, filled with plastic bottles of grape juice.

“Thanks man,” Gareth nods, walking around the dancefloor and whacking a few people in the face with the stacks of cups sticking out.

Once they’re relatively safe behind the refreshment table, Toni turns the caps off the bottles and fills a few cups. Gareth tears the plastic wrapping around the cups and sets them out so Toni can fill them, and he hands full cups to everyone who comes to the table.

It eventually dies down a bit, and they have a supply of filled cups on the table so they both lean against the wall, looking at the partying students and the occasional teacher who was brave enough to go out on the dancefloor as well.

“Are you going to give it a shot?” Gareth asks him, nodding towards Coach Enrique who was performing an impressive robot dance. “I’m sure you can beat him in a dance-off.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Toni grins. “I once had to take six weeks of ballet classes for a role I was performing, seriously, the worst weeks of my entire life. And that includes those weeks I was in Moscow to perform a show and every night the audience got angry when we didn’t speak Russian.”

Gareth’s eyes widen and he laughs. “Damn. I can easily picture you in a tutu, though.”

“There’s still a picture on my parent’s mantle above the fireplace. I wasn’t dressed in a tutu, but whatever I was wearing it surely wasn’t flattering,” Toni sighs, but a laugh bubbles up at the memory of when his mother first put the photo on the mantle and told him very sternly that every proud parent has embarrassing pictures of their children on display. He had pointed out that normally the child would be around five years old instead of twenty-one, but she hadn’t given in.

“Too bad it wasn’t a tutu,” Gareth grins, walking back to the table to help a few students with a tray. “Do you want one as well?” he asks Toni, holding a cup out for him.

“Nah, too much sugar keeps me up at night. I always end up on the couch at 3 a.m., watching reruns of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.”

“That’s the worst,” Gareth nods, putting the cup back down.

“Tell me about it. It’s like, why do they never show the new episodes at 3 a.m.? I hate watching reruns,” Toni says, groaning as he pushes himself off of the wall. “I think the machine near the cloakroom makes tea as well, so I’m going to get me some of that. You want tea as well?”

“Nah,” Gareth says, holding the cup up, “I need this shit if I want to survive the night.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit,” Toni smiles, his eyes scanning the gym as he makes his way to the doors. He sees Dani and Nacho spread out over the chairs at one of the tables, but neither Isco nor Cristiano is anywhere in sight. They’re probably catching their breaths somewhere or something.

The main hallway is a lot quieter and colder than the gym. Toni smiles at a few students who are standing in groups talking to each other. He walks over to the other hallway, where the cloakroom is and his personal saviour, the coffee (and hopefully tea) machine.

The room two doors down from the cloakroom is an open teacher’s office and Toni plays a victory song in his head as he makes his cup of tea. Stirring the hot liquid slowly, he leans against the desk. There is a large Donald Trump bobble head next to the computer and he gives it a vicious push, staring in satisfaction at the big wobbling head.

He’s slightly startled out of his peaceful tea-time-for-one when a door slams and loud footsteps come closer. They pass by the door, and Toni stands up from the desk and walks out of the office.

Isco is pacing in front of the table in the cloakroom, a dark expression on his face.

Toni abandons his tea in the trashcan and goes over to Isco. “Are you alright?”

“Fucking _fabulous_ ,” Isco spits out, sniffing. He brings his hand up to angrily wipe at his eyes. It’s only now that Toni realises Isco is crying.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, softening his tone. He never thought he’d ever see Isco crying. “Did something happen to you tonight? Or at home, after I dropped you off?”

“Toni,” Isco says, voice wavering, “I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it, can you just give me my coat? I don’t wanna be here anymore.” Isco flicks the metal coin onto the table, bringing his hands up and covering his face.

He’s talking softly to himself, and Toni doesn’t know what to do. Dealing with drama(tic) students is his forte, not drunk, crying students. Especially not this specific drunk, crying student because all he wants to do is tug Isco into his arms and hold him close. _Which he does know is really, really not done._

Isco removes his hands away from his face, and Toni gives him a small smile. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Coat, please,” Isco ignores his words, voice slurring.

Toni sighs, walking around the table and picking up Isco’s coin. He moves between the racks and picks Isco’s hanger. He walks back to him and hands him his coat and scarf.

Isco’s struggling to get them on, but when he manages to wind his scarf around his neck, he leaves for the door without so much as giving Toni a second glance.

_And nope, he’s really not letting Isco walk out on him in this state. Or in any other state for that matter._

He grabs his own coat off of the first hanger in the rack and tugs it on, pushing the door open with his shoulder as he tugs up the zipper. The cold wind bites at his cheeks as he turns the corner and hurries after Isco.

“Isco, stop,” he says, hand curling around his bicep and turning him towards him. “You’re drunk and upset, I can’t let you leave like this.”

Isco steps closer, holding his balled up fists against Toni’s chest but he’s not pushing him away. He’s just standing there, blaringly staring up at him with tear-filled eyes. Toni can smell the alcohol on his breath and feels the pressure of Isco’s fists through the thick fabric of his coat.

“Just tell me what happened,” he says softly, resisting the urge to bring his hand up and tread it softly through Isco’s hair. It’s gelled up in a way that forces each hair in the right direction, and Toni misses the messy and slightly curly strands.

“I just wanna go home,” Isco mutters, dropping his gaze to where the zipper of Toni’s coat is. “Fucking… Shouldn’t have gone after him.”

“After who? Listen, don’t you want to go inside and have a warm cup of tea to sober you up? I can go and get Cristiano for you,” Toni offers, bringing up his other hand to hold onto Isco’s other upper arm. He’s not yet hugging him, but he knows he’s probably two sentences away from doing so.

“No,” Isco shakes his head firmly. “I don’t want to see Cristiano, he’s…” he hiccups, “he’s been with Messi.”

“They’re inside together? Are they fighting again?”

Isco lets out a loud, sad laugh. “Ha! I fucking wish. No—no, they’re _together_ , like, for real. Or at least they were because I went after Cris when I saw him leave with Messi. And I thought, I thought that they were gonna fight because Messi beat him at beerpong and it was my fault we lost, and, and, fuck!” Isco stumbles over his words, thumbing away tears that escape from the corners of his eyes. “And then I got there and they were talking about how Messi was apoligizing for jumping Cristiano or something, and then th-they talked about how they’ve been getting it on since the summer and I—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. You’re going to hyperventilate if you don’t breathe normally,” Toni says, holding onto Isco’s arms a little tighter to steady him. “So what you’re saying is that Cristiano and Leo have been in a relationship, and you didn’t know?”

“They’re not in a relationship, Cris hates him,” Isco breathes in sharply, “Or at least he really dislikes him ‘cause we’ve been best friends for so long and Cris can’t fake that shit. But they—they were sitting so close and they were talkin’ about it like it happened all the fuckin’ time. Why wouldn’t Cris tell me? I’ve kept every single one of his secrets.”

“I, erm,” Toni hesitates. _This is so above his pay grade. And he really doesn’t wanna think about two students hooking up because ugh._ “I don’t know.”

Another tear rolls down Isco’s cheek. “I’m so confused, I can’t, I can’t deal with this.”

“And why is that?” Toni asks, trying to make things as clear as possible for both of them. “Is it because Cristiano kept the truth from you, or because you don’t like the idea of him being together with someone else?”

Isco snaps his head up quickly. “Are you asking me if I’m _jealous_?” he asks, his voice sounding clearer than it has all evening.

“I don’t know, you could be? Maybe you have feeli—”

He gets cut off by Isco pressing his lips against his, knocking the air right out of him. He’s completely frozen, the shock barely registering in his brain before he moves forward, as if on instinct, and kisses him back. Isco’s lips are warm and he feels one of Isco’s tears sliding down against his own cheek. He can taste the salt on Isco’s lips when he opens his mouth further, his breath escaping shakily when Isco slides his tongue against his. His hands are like vices around Isco’s arms and he’s holding him in place, too scared of what will happen when he pulls Isco closer. It lasts a few wonderful seconds, but then his brain has finally caught up.

“Isco, what—” he stutters, pulling back from the kiss as if he’s been burnt.

Isco licks his lips, his nearly black eyes looking straight at him, unwavering. “How can I be fucking jealous if you’re the only person I can think about?” he snaps at him, his fists back to pushing against Toni’s chest.

 _Keep fucking breathing, idiot._ Toni lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head and twisting his shaking fingers. “N-no, you don’t mean that. You’re drunk, Isco, and angry and confused—”

“I’m not confused about you!” Isco says, burying his head against Toni’s chest and pushing his forehead against his fists. His voice is muffled when he continues, and Toni leans against the side of the building, feeling overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts about the things he wants to do and the things he should do. “I’m crazy about you, man,” Isco sighs, the words hardly audible.

“You don’t mean that, you don’t mean that,” Toni repeats, whispering the words mostly to himself.

“And I know,” Isco breathes out shakily, leaning back and looking at him again. “I know you like me, too. You wouldn’t be so close to me if you didn’t. You…”

“Don’t say it,” Toni whispers, shaking his head.

Isco’s jaw tightens. “You wouldn’t have kissed me back if you didn’t like me.”

The words hit home like a blow to the stomach and Toni closes his eyes, the fabric of Isco’s coat twisting between his fingers. “I—I can’t, _we_ can’t,” he stutters. “Fuck, Isco, _we can’t_.” He abruptly lets go of Isco, pulling his hands back.

“We can’t,” Isco repeats, his eyes still fixed on Toni’s face. “But you want to, right? I’m not making this shit up?” It should be a question but it comes out as a statement.

Toni sighs deeply, shaking his head at the ground. He can’t say it. He can’t lie to Isco, he deserves way more than that. He feels his fingers trembling, he wants to reach out and feel Isco’s warm cheeks as he kisses him, _but he can’t_.

“Y’know,” Isco says, pressing his hand against Toni’s shoulder and leaning in a bit. “You’re not saying no. Which means you do want to.” The words slur together but Toni understands him perfectly.

“Isco,” he breathes in sharply and tries to muster up as much of an authoritative tone in his voice as he can when he says, “It doesn’t matter that I’m into you because there’s a reason why we can’t, things can blow up horribly in our faces. And I’m not doing that to either of us.”

Isco wipes at his eyes, the rims looking irritated and red. He steps back, standing underneath the light of the lamppost. “You know that I’m not one to give up, Toni, especially not now you’ve said that you’re into me.”

And he knows Isco’s right. His persistence is one of the things Toni likes most about him. “You’re gonna have to let it go,” he tells him. “There’s no way things like this end good.”

Pressing his lips together, Isco gives him a measuring look, as if there’s more he wants to say but loud footsteps are coming their way.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you. You ready to go?” Cristiano asks, stepping into the light of the lamppost. He then looks quizzically at both of them. His eyes linger on Isco’s dishevelled and upset expression.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, and Toni worries Cristiano can see straight through him right now.

He clears his throat, trying to look as unaffected as possible. “Everything’s fine, Cristiano. I think you should take Isco home.” He’s glad when Cristiano averts his gaze and looks worriedly at Isco.

“Are you alright?” Cristiano asks his friend, and Toni prays for Isco to act as if he is.

Isco sniffs, not meeting Toni’s eyes. “Let’s just leave,” he slurs, and he walks away without giving him a second glance. It shouldn’t hurt, but it really, really does.

Cristiano settles his confused gaze back on him. “What happened out here?”

“Nothing,” he answers quickly. “But, erm, you should talk to him tomorrow morning. He overheard you talking to Messi.” There, that will give Cristiano something else to worry about than why Isco was crying in the company of his teacher.

He looks at Isco’s retreating back and gives Cristiano a tight-lipped smile and moves past him to go back inside. Leaning against the closed door, he sighs deeply and treads his cold fingers through his hair.

The taste of Isco’s lips and tongue still lingers in his mouth and he feels his blood strumming underneath his skin, as if it has awakened something inside of him. He doesn’t want to find out what it is, so he stalks back to the cloakroom, where a line of sweaty and tired students is already waiting.

He feels completely dazed, picking up the coins and handing the coats back as if he’s in a trance. Halfway through, Coach Enrique and Mrs. Roccuzzo come help him and then he’s done, he’s standing outside in the parking lot again.

His fingers fumble with the key and he clicks his car open, getting in behind the wheel. He sits back in his chair for a second, tapping a rhythm on his steering wheel until he feels a bit calmer, and he puts the car into motion.

Driving has always helped him calm down from something, whether it was a bad break up, or an adrenaline rush from a show or when he was mad, and this time it’s no different, thankfully. His mind clears for the full fifteen minute drive, and it’s only when he steps out of the car and into the elevator, that the cogs start turning in his head again.

He locks the door of his apartment behind him, letting the keys drop in the ceramic bowl next to it with a loud clang. Kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his coat, he wonders if Isco is home already and if he and Cristiano are alright. They must be, he can’t imagine the two of them fighting.

His shirt falls down to the floor with a flutter after he takes it off and he fumbles with his belt for a second, tugging it loose and popping the button. Walking into his bedroom, he shoves his pants down his hips and steps out of them.

The light in the bathroom hurts his eyes and he doesn’t look at his reflection while he brushes his teeth. He doesn’t taste Isco anymore when he gets underneath the covers. He lies on his stomach, hands pushed underneath the pillow to warm them up.

Every time he closes his eyes he feels Isco’s arms underneath his palms and he remembers the scent of his hair gel when he pushed himself against his chest. Isco had felt as if he was on fire, emitting warmth and light and when he kissed him, Toni had felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Isco’s lips had been so soft against his own and he feels his whole body seizing up at the memory. God, he wishes he’d pulled Isco’s body tightly against his, or maybe he’d flipped them and held Isco trapped between him and the wall.

He feels his cock stiffening in his underwear and he grinds his hips down against the mattress, breathing out shakily at the friction. The thought of Isco’s lithe body against his has his face heating up. Gripping the sheets tightly, he digs his knees into his mattress and he feels the fabric of his boxer briefs dragging over his cock. It feels so good, it’s easy to just—

He pushes himself up with his hands, getting off of his bed. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head.

This time he does look at his reflection in the mirror, blinking blearily against the sharp white light of his bathroom. His skin is flushed, hair all mussed up, and his eyes are big, the blue nearly swallowed up by the black pupil. He looks at the alarm clock by his bed and sighs.

Flicking the light off, he walks towards his living room to make a cup of tea. _It looks like he’s not sleeping any time soon._


	8. Leo II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cristiano takes Leo to a gay bar.

“Leo, are you alright? You’re hardly eating anything.”

Leo looks up from where he’d been dividing his carrots and peas on his plate, and meets the worried brown eyes of his mother. She’s sitting across the table from him, putting a second serving on her plate.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, shaking his head a little.

“You’ve been staring at your plate for the past ten minutes, son,” his father says, sitting at the head of the table. “You’ve got something on your mind?”

Leo quickly stuffs a spoonful of peas into his mouth. “No,” he mumbles around his food, his mother giving him a slight frown. It’s not like he can tell her he’s freaking out about going to a gay bar tonight, and all he wants to do is roll up in his bed and never come out again. He swallows his bite and clears his throat, “Just not hungry tonight, I guess.”

He tucks his sleeves around his knuckles, sinking further into his oversized sweater. Outside, the wind is howling and occasionally the tree in the front yard scrapes its branches along the window. _Winter is coming_ , Jesé had said about thirty times today and he’s annoying, but right. Last week had been cold, the morning practice after the Winter Formal had made his eyelashes stick together. It had gotten even colder, and you could feel the worst of it in the mornings and in the evenings.

“Are you getting sick?” his mother asks, noticing how he’s burrowing himself into his sweater. “I told you that you should be wearing thermic underwear during practice, you cool down way too much in between the drills.”

Leo sighs. “I’m not getting sick, mom. Just not that hungry tonight.”

“You going out for dinner later?” his father asks. “I saw clothes laid out on your bed which looked better than,” he vaguely gestures at Leo, “that shapeless sack you have on now.”

He feels a flush rising to his cheeks. “Dad,” he groans. “What were you doing in my room?”

“I was looking for the stapler, don’t worry, I didn’t snoop around looking for whatever teenagers wanna hide nowadays.”

His mother smiles, grabbing his father’s hand. She turns back to Leo. “You’ve got special plans tonight for which you need to change? Normally you just wear whatever when you meet your friends.”

“Guys, lay off my style,” Leo says, but he can’t help but crack a small grin. “I’m going out to a bar tonight, and no, I won’t drink any alcohol or ask someone older than me to buy it for me. I’m just going out.”

“With whom?” his father asks.

“Okay, what’s with the third degree?” He holds up his hands, switching glances between his parents.

His mother takes a sip from her glass of water, setting it down and grabbing her fork. “No third degree, honey. We just want to know where you’re going tonight and with whom. We need to know who to call if something is up.”

Leo clicks his jaw shut, staring intently at the peas on his plate. He hadn’t really thought of a way to tell his parents this, but it’s too late now, anyway.

“I’m hanging out with Cristiano tonight, if you must know.”

“ _Ronaldo?_ ” His parents ask him at the same time, the disbelief evident in their voice.

“Yeah,” Leo rolls his eyes, “He’s only Cristiano in my year, so yeah, that’s the one.” He presses his lips together and looks at both of his parents expectantly.

His mother’s spoon still dangles in the air, halfway to her mouth. “But why?” she asks, as if he just told her that he was going to backpack naked through the Rocky Mountains.

“Yeah,” his father pitches in, “I’m pretty sure I have spent five years of my life in total listening to you recite all the reasons why you hate him so much. And now you’re _hanging out_ with him?”

“Make that ten years,” his mother adds, grinning at his father. “Because I’ve listened to it during every breakfast before school.”

“Oh, ha-ha, very funny,” Leo snips, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“We’re just surprised, is all, son,” his father shrugs. “But if you’re certain that you two can hang out without one of you ending up in a ditch somewhere, then sure, we trust you. What are you two doing anyway?”

“Like I said, we’re just going to a bar. Maybe play some pool, if there’s a table.”

His mother stacks the plates, Leo’s half-full plate on top and she gathers the forks and knives. “Well,” she says, standing up and walking the dirty dishes to the kitchen, “I never thought I’d live to see the day. I hope you have his phone number Leo, because that rule is more important than ever, now that you’re going out with your ‘mortal enemy’.”

Leo drops his head on the table. “Since when did my fights and rivalry with him become your deal?” he complains against the slick wood of the table.

“Since you _literally_ wasted ten years off our lives with it,” his father deadpans, clapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. “But I am proud of you two attempting to bury the hatchet. Just make sure you don’t bury it in his face.”

“Is he picking you up tonight?” his mother asks, over the loud sound of running water. “Because if he is, I do want to meet him.”

Leo lifts his head, holding up his hand. “Why?” he asks, frowning. “You’ve met him when we were little, you seen him during the games every week.” He stands up from his chair and walks into the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Trust me, he’s uglier up close. I don’t want to put you through that.”

His mother laughs, shaking her head fondly. “I haven’t spoken to him ever since he came to the door when his mother made him apologize for pushing you over in the sandbox. I’d like a second impression, especially now that you’re not gnashing your teeth anymore at the mere mention of him.”

“Fine,” Leo sighs, “I’ll tell him you guys want to talk to him, but it’s not my fault if he says no. He doesn’t have normal manners.”

“Says the one who literally referred to him as _the demon child_ for two months,” his father calls from the dining room.

“We’re not talking about me here!” Leo says, stalking out of the kitchen and stomping his way upstairs to his room.

-

When the clock ticks eight p.m., Leo’s in the middle of the process of tugging his shirt over his head. He flings it across the room without looking where it lands. _What do people wear to a gay bar?_ He’s tempted to reach for his phone and actually google it, but he stops himself from doing so.

At least he already has his bottom half covered, in bleached jeans and his new black Adidas shoes. He doesn’t know if he should wear a long-sleeve shirt or a short-sleeve shirt, because it’s cold as hell outside, but maybe the bar is very warm inside.

Since Cristiano can be here any moment now, Leo picks a dark grey graphic t-shirt and pulls it over his head. It’s a long-sleeve shirt, but it’s pretty thin so he hopes he won’t be too hot.

 _And I did not think this through_ , he realises when they doorbell rings downstairs. He grabs his phone and keys, stuffing them in his pockets as he races down the stairs into the hallway. Of course, Cristiano is the type of guy to pick someone up at the door. _Fantastic._

“It’s great to see you again, Mrs. Messi. On my way here I realised this is the first time I show up on your doorstep without having anything to apologize for,” he hears Cristiano say. His mother laughs heartily at that. _Ugh, what a kiss-ass._

Tugging on his jacket, he grabs a pen and paper from the side table in the hall and quickly scribbles Cristiano’s phone number on it. He does not stop to think about why he has it memorized.

“Here you go, mom,” he says, pressing it in her hand as he passes her and he gives her a quick kiss. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“You boys have fun,” his mother smiles, “It was lovely to see you, Cristiano.” She gives them a small wave before closing the front door.

Leo walks down the path of the front yard, opening the door on the passenger side of the car and getting in. He realises he’s rushing this, but he’s afraid he will turn around and call quits on the whole thing if the car doesn’t start moving within ten seconds.

And of course, Cristiano takes his fucking time waving sweetly at the window, where his mother and father are beaming proudly. He walks around the car and gets in on the driver’s side.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” he mumbles, raising his eyebrow at Leo. He nods at his parents. “What’d you tell them we were gonna do?”

Leo shrugs, tugging his seatbelt around his torso as Cristiano starts the car. “Told them we were going to a bar, maybe play some pool.” He looks sideways at Cristiano, his eyes slowly moving over his body. Cristiano’s wearing dark pants and a white V-neck underneath his black coat. His hair is gelled up and his skin along his neck and jawline looks smooth. Leo wants to lean over and press his lips against it, maybe even leave a mark.

Clearing his throat, he pointedly averts his gaze. “How’s Isco?” he asks, as they drive out of the street.

Cristiano sighs. “Well, he ain’t happy about it but he gets why I’m doing it for you. He even offered to come with, so I don’t think he’s mad at you.”

“What about you? Did he forgive you yet?”

“He’s still a bit prickly but we’re good. He said that he gets to pick the movie for movie night for six months, and that he’ll show everyone at school the most embarrassing childhood pictures of me if I keep shit from him again.”

Leo smiles. “You’re lucky he’s so nice, Cris.”

“I know. And I fucking regret not telling him anything, but what’s done is done. Right now I’m just glad he’s still the same around me.”

“It’s not like anything’s going to happen again, you said so yourself,” Leo mumbles, shrugging a bit.

Cristiano doesn’t answer, so Leo just looks at the GPS on the dashboard. It’s a twenty minute drive to the centre of the city, and it’s a twenty minute drive away from finding out how gay he really is. _What a fucking night._

-

After getting their wrists stamped with a symbol that indicates they’re not supposed to be served any alcohol, Leo follows Cristiano through the opening in the wall that leads to the bar.

The first thing he notices is the loud music and the amount of people. The beat reverberates through his chest and he needs to stay close to Cristiano’s back as they make their way towards the bar. Cristiano finds them both two empty barstools and elegantly slides onto one, while Leo hops awkwardly onto his own.

“First thought, right now,” Cristiano says, leaning his elbows onto the worn wood of the bar.

Leo slides his gaze through the large room again, taking in the urban artwork on the walls, the flashing lights and the male and female couples dancing with each other on the dancefloor.

“Not that different than a from any other bar,” he admits, his facial expression settling into something that doesn’t say _I’m either highly uncomfortable or constipated._

Cristiano notices, because he grins at him. “What’d you expect? People getting it on with each other in every corner of the room?” he asks.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Leo replies honestly. “Have you been here a lot before?”

“Nah,” Cristiano shrugs with one shoulder. “A few times, but they usually play techno music which isn’t really my thing. The DJ takes requests tonight, so the music’s a bit more varied than usual.”

“Hm, okay,” Leo hums, propping his elbow on the bar and leaning his chin on his hand, calmly taking his surroundings in.

Meanwhile, Cristiano orders them two drinks and Leo smiles at him, sipping from his iced tea. He’s perfectly fine sitting here on the barstool, drinking a non-alcoholic drink and just watching everyone around him minding their own business, perfectly at ease with themselves.

“Okay, step two,” Cristiano announces after a few minutes, putting his empty drink back onto the bar again.

“Step two?” Leo asks, feeling tension stringing through his body. “What was step one?”

“Step one was actually getting you through the door,” Cristiano says, matter-of-factly, “Step two is you looking over to that guy over there and telling me what you think of him.”

Leo swallows hard, following Cristiano’s line of sight. Near the more quiet corner of the bar there’s a guy and a girl playing darts, both of them drinking a beer.

“Erm,” he hesitates, “He seems nice?”

Cristiano raises his eyebrows at him, clearly unimpressed. “He seems nice?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say here,” Leo shrugs, taking a sip from his drink.

“What I want,” Cristiano says, leaning over in his space, “Is for you to look at that guy and _really look._ At everything, his hair, his eyes, his nose, his clothing, even his fucking shoes. And I want you to tell him what you think of all those things.”

Leo bites his lower lip, getting Cristiano’s point. He has to look at the guy and see if he’s attracted to him. “Can’t we just sit here?” he asks, thumbing at the scratches in the wood of the bar.

“Just sitting here isn’t going to solve any of that confusion you have up here.” Cristiano’s fingers are warm when they tap against his temple.

“Fine,” Leo sighs, turning slightly and looking at the guy with intent. He has light-brown hair, curly, and the curls fall just over his ears. “His hair is… I don’t know, perfectly fine?”

“Do you like it? Do the curls make you want to run your hands through his hair, or maybe you’d like a different hair style on him better, or you don’t specifically care about his hair?” Cristiano asks, and Leo feels his gaze on him.

“I don’t really care about hair in general,” Leo huffs. “Maybe a darker colour, that’s all.”

“What do you care about then? Which part of any human body gets you going?”

“Broad shoulders.” He feels the words slipping off of his tongue before he can catch them. “And a nice ass.”

Cristiano hums, sounding pleased. “Alright. I assume you’ve watched straight porn?” At Leo’s faint nod, he continues, “And what made you click on the video, or skip it?”

He stays silent for a while, mentally going through his internet history of the past few months. _Shit_ , he thinks suddenly. _Why didn’t he catch onto this before?_ “The kind of guy that was fucking her,” he mumbles. Cristiano gestures for him to continue.

Leo takes a deep breath. “I never had one type of girl I searched for, it was only about how the guy looked. And I remember one where the girl was holding the camera, so all you saw was the guy, just the thought of it gets me hot again.”

Cristiano grins at him, shaking his head. “How the fuck did you ever fool yourself into thinking you were straight,” he says, clearly not waiting for an answer because he orders two new drinks for them.

“So,” Leo continues, looking back at the guy playing darts. “He’s not really my type.” _He basically just said out loud he has a type in guys. Fucking hell…_ “He’s too tall and thin for me.”

Cristiano hands some money over to the bartender and sets Leo’s drink in front of him. “To the completion of step two,” he says, holding up his glass and clinking it against Leo’s.

They spend another hour talking, trying to find out what he likes in a boy and what he doesn’t like. There’s enough people in the bar tonight, so they just move from one person to another, trying not to be too obvious. Leo spends most of the time looking at Cristiano, though. He’s never seen Cristiano so happy and relaxed around him, and they’ve never talked this long without one of them throwing in a mean comment that ultimately leads to a fight. The nervous breakdown that he was expecting doesn’t show up, even after he flat out admits the bartender is really hot and probably has a huge dick. The way Cristiano’s eyes widen as he bursts into laughter make him feel better than during the game last week when he scored four goals.

“Oh my God,” Cristiano laughs, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re actually sitting here drawing the perfect dick.”

Leo grins up at him for a second before leaning back over the carton coaster on which he’s drawing his masterpiece. “Voilà,” he says, holding it up in Cristiano’s face. “Take thee this offering, as a sign of my gratitude towards the education you gave me in the past few hours we have spent in each other’s company.”

Cristiano snatches the coaster from his fingers, shaking his head at him. “You’re insane,” he laughs, but he slides the coaster in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Not my fault, your influence,” Leo shrugs, sipping on the straw of his mineral water. He wonders what Cristiano would do if he made a move on him right now. He definitely wants to, with the way Cristiano looks tonight. “I’m sorry if my awesome drawing skills turn you on.”

“Well,” Cristiano says, leaning over into his space and nodding his head at the end of the bar. “You certainly turned someone on, alright.”

Leo turns his head, noticing a guy looking at him. The guy winks at him when their eyes meet, and for a second he has that _you fucking wot m8?_ reaction that Neymar has gotten into lately. His fake British accent makes everyone around him cringe. “He’s winking at me,” he tells Cristiano. “Why is he winking at me?”

“I don’t know, but he’s coming over,” Cristiano grins. “Don’t try to knee him in the balls, that’s not nice. Show him some of your moves.”

It’s too late to tell Cristiano that the only move he wants to show tonight is for him, and not for some stranger. He feels the blood leaving from his fingertips as the guy comes closer, and the muscles in his neck tighten when the guy puts his hand between his shoulder blades.

“Hi, I’m Darren. What’s your name?”

“Leo,” he says, staring Darren up and down. He has dark, spiky hair and his shirtsleeves are pushed up. He looks alright, but nowhere near as handsome as Cr—he cuts the thought off _right there_ because the guy is leaning in closer _._

“I’m getting a drink,” Cristiano announces, hopping off of his chair and giving him a thumbs up over Darren’s shoulders. _Don’t fucking leave me here!_ Leo wants to shout after him. He stares at his own glass, but it’s still half filled with water. He can’t use the getting-a-drink excuse then.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Darren says, sliding into the seat Cristiano vacated.

“It’s my first time here,” Leo replies evenly, trying to breathe steadily through his nose. _Just because he’s not as handsome as Cristiano, doesn’t mean he’s not his type. Stay calm._

“Really? You don’t like going out?”

The looks Darren sends him creep him the fuck out, but he supposes that he should try to talk to guys sometime. So he says, “No, I don’t go to gay bars normally because I’m not out yet.”

This gets an eyebrow raise out of Darren. “Really? You just now stepping over your shyness or you just found out?”

Leo swallows an indignant laugh, _because hello, he’s anything but shy._ “Just found out,” he replies.

“Ah,” Darren scoots closer, winding an arm around Leo’s waist. Everything inside him wants to get the fuck out of here. “Well, if you need any help finding out what you like, I can definitely be that man for you.”

“What I like?” Leo repeats, incredulously. Who does this guy think he is?

“Yeah,” Darren drops his other hand high on Leo’s thigh. “I could really help you out with—”

Leo jumps off of the barstool, out of Darren’s grip. “Don’t touch me like that,” he says, holding up his finger in Darren’s face.

Darren seems taken aback, like most people are when he first gets angry with them.

“Didn’t your mother teach you any goddamn manners?” Leo asks, staring Darren down until he averts his eyes. “Didn’t think so.”

“I was just trying to make you—”

Leo cuts him off. “You were three inches away from harassing me, that’s what. And you know what,” he says, stepping closer to Darren and staring him down again, “This really was my first time out in a gay bar, since I just turned eighteen. And you just fucking ruined it for me with your behaviour. How would you have liked that, back then when you started coming to terms with who you are? Pretty fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Leo, are you alright?” he hears behind him. He’s never felt such a calm rush come over him at the sound of Cristiano’s voice.

He gives Darren one last look and turns around. Cristiano’s slowly sipping the last bit from his drink, but he looks a little wary between him and Darren.

“I’m fine. Can we go?” he asks. “I’m tired.”

Cristiano slurps loudly on the straw as he finishes his drink. “Of course,” he says, setting the glass on the bar with a loud thunk and he glares at Darren for a second. He turns back towards Leo, nodding at the exit. “Let’s go.”

Leo follows him, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Cristiano’s shirt. He keeps his hand on Cristiano’s lower back as they walk out of the bar, the light contact grounding him and calming him down.

-

“What happened back there, Leo?” Cristiano eventually asks him, as they’re driving down the empty highway. “Did he do anything to you?”

Leo sighs, leaning his head against the window. The glass is cold against his temple. “I don’t know, I guess I kind of overreacted. He was touching my thigh and saying how he wanted to show me stuff that I’d like. Too much, too soon, that’s all.”

Cristiano hums. “If it made you uncomfortable, it’s good that you left. I’m sorry, though, I didn’t want your first night out to be like this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Leo mumbles. “It was nice, I had a really good time with you.” He looks sideways, staring at Cristiano. It’s like he’s magnetic, always drawing Leo’s eyes to him. Everything about Cristiano just makes this urge spring up in him, makes him want to touch him, kiss him, dig his fingers underneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his back.

“I had a good time as well,” Cristiano says, shifting the gear and grinning at Leo for a split-second. “Weird though, not fighting with you.”

Leo feels the corners of his mouth pulling upwards. He slouches a little in the chair, staring at Cristiano with more intent. “You’re more than welcome to fight with me, if you want.” He didn’t mean for his voice to drop so low, but hey, he’ll roll with it.

“Maybe there’s nothing about you tonight that pisses me off,” Cristiano says.

Leo watches his long fingers curled around the steering wheel, the green-blue veins of his underarms visible every time they drive underneath a light. Cristiano’s skin always keeps that golden glow, no matter what time of year it is.

“It did help, your suggestion that I look at other guys and think about which specific things I like about them,” he says, narrowing his eyes a bit.

“Yeah?” Cristiano asks. “That’s good, it’ll help you when you notice someone. It’s important not to look away, let yourself check out another guy.”

“I’m not looking away, don’t worry,” Leo says, spreading his thighs a bit as he cocks his head, still studying Cristiano’s profile.

Cristiano laughs. “I didn’t mean me.”

“But I do mean you,” Leo says, his voice dipping low again. He loves watching Cristiano’s throat work as he swallows, clearly catching on to Leo’s mood. “Let’s be real, I’ve probably been checking you out since we were kids.”

“That sounds weird as fuck,” Cristiano says, but his lips twitch up in a smile.

“I pulled on your curls back then, didn’t I?” Leo says, leaning sideways against the back of the chair. “It’s still one of the things I like to do to you.” He reaches out and lets a finger slide against the sensitive skin behind Cristiano’s ear.

He notices Cristiano slowly licking his lips. “One of the things?” Cristiano repeats.

Leo discovers he has no sense of shame about his attraction to Cristiano anymore, and it’s a glorious feeling, being able to sweet talk him like this without the twist in his stomach. Maybe he’s progressing in stages, where the first stage was when he was uncomfortable with his feelings for Cristiano, and he didn’t even think further to other guys. Now he’s in the next stage, where he is basically basking in his arousal for Cris, but other men make him uncomfortable. Maybe the final stage will be when he’s comfortable with everything. But with Cristiano sitting so close to him, his throat working as he swallows, Leo finds that he doesn’t really give a damn about that final stage.

 “Yeah, one of the things,” he says. “You wanna know what else I like doing to you?”

Cristiano switches the light on and changes lanes, exiting the highway. “Yes,” he says, his fingers twitching a bit.

Leo scoots a bit closer, sliding his hand in Cristiano’s neck. Cristiano’s skin is warm to the touch and he threads his fingers through the short hairs. He’s half hard in his jeans already, just by looking at him. “I like it when you’re angry with me and your eyes keep dropping down to my lips because you know how our fights end most of the time.”

“Yeah, with me being right,” Cristiano says smartly, but there’s a tight edge to his voice as he keeps his eyes on the road.

Leo grins. “Maybe, yeah. But sometimes I think you started those fights about nothing because you wanted to fast forward towards the end. And I let you every time ‘cause you get that crazy look in your eyes which is hot as fuck.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do,” Leo laughs, twisting his fingers in Cristiano’s hair and tugging a little. It shuts Cristiano right up. “That’s another thing I like, you shutting up like that.” He snaps his fingers on the other hand.

“You’re a control freak, no news there,” Cristiano says, but a flush is spreading over his cheeks.

Leo lets his grip on Cristiano’s hair go, making sure Cristiano can pay attention to his driving.

“We’re almost there,” Cristiano says, as turns the car off of the main street. “So you’re definitely starting something you can’t finish.”

Leo glances at Cristiano’s crotch, noticing he’s on his way, too. “Well, I guess I better hurry up then with the last thing I like about you,” he grins.

Cristiano rolls his eyes, but he smiles as well. “So basically you only like about three things about me? Great, real flattering, Leo.”

Leo ignores him, because he definitely likes more than three things about Cris, but it’s not smart for both of them if he really gets going on this subject. “Last thing I like,” he says, leaning over the console and pressing his lips to Cristiano’s jaw, “is how hickeys look on your skin.”

Cristiano lets out a low whine, stopping the car with a halt in front of Leo’s house. Sparing a quick glance, Leo sees that all the curtains in front of the windows are drawn already so he smiles against Cristiano’s skin. “Not getting out of this so quickly, Cris.”

He waits for a few seconds, but Cristiano stays where he is, his breathing getting slightly faster as Leo doesn’t move away. Bringing his left hand up to the other side of Cristiano’s face, he holds on and opens his mouth against Cristiano’s neck.

Cristiano sucks in a deep breath, but he keeps his head angled towards Leo. His temple resting on Cristiano’s shoulder, Leo presses his mouth firmly against Cristiano’s skin and sucks. He caresses the other side of Cristiano’s face with his thumb, letting it slip over his cheekbone. His tongue slips over the part of skin between his teeth, and he sucks a bit harder.

“Leo,” Cristiano moans, when Leo doesn’t let up and presses his teeth harder as well.

Releasing the skin from between his lips, Leo slightly pulls back. A string of spit from Cristiano’s neck to his mouth snaps when he moves back to his own chair.

Cristiano gives him an exasperated look but it falls flat because his eyes are dark and his cheeks are flushed red. He inspects his neck in the rear view mirror. “You fucking mauled me,” he mutters, with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Don’t act like you mind,” Leo smiles smugly.

“I do mind you giving me a hard on,” Cristiano replies, turning the mirror straight again.

“Well,” Leo clears his throat, checking his pockets for his keys. “If I do remember correctly,” he says, opening the door, “You were the one who called quits on our deal, so… Good night.”

He gets out of the car, closing the door in the middle of Cristiano’s colourful string of insults. Smiling sweetly, he waves at him through the window. Cristiano raises his middle finger in return, which makes him grin.

Walking towards the front door, he unlocks the door and gives Cristiano a quick two-fingered salute before stepping inside.

-

His phone is lighting up when he steps out of the shower, his entire body feeling sensitive after that amazing jerk off session he just had. A smile breaks through on his lips when he unlocks the screen, opening the message.

**I’m pretty sure I can un-call quits on us**

He doesn’t expect to feel such a rush going through his spine at Cristiano’s use of the  word _us_ , but it leaves him with a small shudder. As he gets into bed, his phone buzzes again.

**I’m telling Isco this time, tho**

 


	9. Isco III

On Saturday morning, Isco wakes up with Cristiano’s hair tickling against his cheekbones. He huffs, pushing a weak hand against Cristiano’s shoulder to shove him over a bit.

Cristiano makes a soft sound of resistance, but he rolls over anyway, taking at least half of the blanket with him.

Curving his neck, Isco looks at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s a little past eight, which means they’ve slept for about six hours. They spent the night before celebrating the start of Christmas break by watching movies, with him simultaneously studying his lines for the play, and Cristiano spending most of his time tapping away on his phone.

Isco feels something digging in back, so he twists and turns, taking out the remote control of the stereo set out from under his body. He lets it drop onto the floor, rolling over to Cristiano to steal some of his blanket back. _It’s his bed, dammit._

“Time is it?” Cristiano mumbles sleepily, curling in on himself a bit.

Isco yawns, stifling it in his pillow. “Eight,” he mutters against the fabric of his sheets. “You’ve gotta get up soon, team meeting was around ten, right?”

“Yeah,” Cristiano groans, stretching out his long limbs like a cat. “Can I take the first shower?”

“Sure, but you’re making me breakfast,” Isco replies, ducking his head underneath his pillow. “I need a ride to school, theatre is open.”

“Fine.” Cristiano slumps back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t believe the year’s almost over already.”

“Time’s relative and we’re all gonna die anyway,” Isco says morosely, his optimism usually kicking in after breakfast and not a second earlier, so until then he’s wallowing in his pessimistic and sleepy mindset.

Cristiano chuckles, slumping the blanket back and getting out of bed. “Jesé is going to throw a party on New Year’s. His parents are out of town.”

“Fantastic. Now go shower before I’m stealing it from you.”

He spends about ten minutes listening to Cristiano’s singing, before stretching out again and grabbing his phone from the night stand.

The whole crew involved with _Coriolanus_ has a group chat on WhatsApp, and Isco lazily scrolls through the messages he missed last night. It’s mostly just questions like ‘Does anyone have spare paintbrushes?’ or ‘What does _betwix’t_ mean?’.

Sometimes Toni sends an obnoxiously long message with directions and schedules, and Isco rereads the last one he sent.

**During the last football game of the year tomorrow, the school will be open. If anyone wants to practice their lines, or look at the backdrops and the setting again, the theatre is available. After the winter break, I expect all of you to know your lines by heart, so we can spend the last few months focussing on perfecting your personal performance. Enjoy your break, Toni.**

Isco stares at the pages scattered around on his floor, pondering if he should actually go or not. He spent the past two weeks successfully not-really-avoiding Toni, but also not popping up everywhere he sees the man.

Figuring Toni needs some time to come to terms with the fact that someone as awesome as Isco has a crush on him, he let the man be.

But two weeks is more than enough, and Isco knows what he wants. And he knows Toni likes him as well, so staying away from him is not even an option anymore. Just as he hears the water stops running in the shower, he realises he maybe has a problem. Mostly because all he remembers of that night is Toni kissing him back and Toni admitting that he’s into him, and not the countless times Toni said that nothing could ever happen between them. _Okay, maybe he_ remembers _Toni saying it, but he’s deciding not to listen to it. That’s_ another _problem right there._

He throws the covers off of his body and gets out of bed, gathering the papers on the floor in his arms. He’s not going to bring them, but Cristiano will bitch about it if he leaves them around. It’s also not entirely necessary that he practices another time before the end of the year, because all of his lines are safely locked in his head already. But hey, if the theatre’s open there’s no harm in paying Toni a visit, right?

Cristiano comes walking into the room, a gush of warmth from the bathroom following him as he towels off his hair. He’s already in his team gear, and he throws the wet towel in Isco’s face.

“Ew, fuck off,” Isco frowns, throwing the towel back as he walks towards the shower. “Go make me some breakfast, dick. You spent the entire evening texting with Leo, _rude_ , so I deserve some greasy bacon loving.”

Laughing, Cristiano pulls on his socks. “Says the one who studied the play for three hours, did you even know which movie was on?”

“At least I’m working on my academic career, you’re just following your dick to very questionable places,” Isco huffs, but he’s grinning anyway. “Seriously, it freaks me out, the whole smiling thing you’ve got going on whenever the dude texts you. Are you sure you guys didn’t catch _the feels_ in that gay bar?”

“You would kill me if that had happened,” Cristiano points out.

“True! I did not listen to ten years of psycho-you for nothing,” Isco calls out, his voice echoing in the bathroom. “And even though I let you continue—whatever it is you have with him, doesn’t mean that I’ll accept your sappy heart eyes.”

“I don’t have sappy heart eyes.” He can hear the scowl in Cristiano’s voice.

Isco laughs. “You so do, though! Ugh, you and Leo together will never stop being nauseating,” he teases.

He laughs louder when he hears Cristiano’s indignant groan, and his footsteps stomp away as the door of his bedroom is thrown close behind him.

-

They’re back to loving each other once they’re at school, because Cristiano made an amazing breakfast and the way he blushes whenever he teases him about Leo is actually pretty cute. _Still nauseating as fuck though_.

It’s freezing outside and Cristiano parks the car carefully, the heater inside still blazing to keep the windows from fogging up.

“I can’t believe they’re making you play in this weather, it’s ridiculous,” Isco says, grabbing his scarf.

Cristiano reaches over, helping him winding it around his neck and chin so half of his face is covered. “It’s worse for you, because everyone watching has to stand still or sit on those cold bleachers. Last match of the year though, so it’s worth it.”

“If you’re behind by half-time I’m leaving,” Isco mumbles, getting out of the car. Cristiano smiles at him because they both know Isco always sits out the matches, even that one time they lost 23-0 against one of the top-division teams.

As the walk across the parking lot, Cristiano throws Isco’s keys back at him. “Thanks for letting me drive,” he says. “You don’t have to wait up for me after the game, the team is probably going out for lunch.”

“Sure, no problem. Good luck,” Isco says, pocketing his keys.

They hug near the end of the parking lot, Cristiano walking off to the locker room and Isco going up to the front door of the school. It’s not that weird, being here during the weekend. The school is often used for other town activities, like the marmalade contest his mother has won five years in a row.

He thumps against his own locker as he walks past it, his shoes squeaking on the clean floor as he makes his way towards the theatre.

Pushing the heavy door open, he quickly scans the room and notices that Neymar is the only one here. The freshman is running across the stage, dropping paint and water everywhere.

“Morning,” Isco calls out, the sound of his voice echoing in the empty space.

Neymar skids to a stop, waving at him. “Hey! Can you help me out here? I really need to be on time to meet the guys before the game, otherwise Coach is gonna bench me again.”

Isco drops his coat and scarf over the back of one of the chairs and pushes himself up on the stage by his arms. Walking over towards Neymar, he gets a bucket of paint and a brush pressed into his hands.

“These things resemble pillars, they need to be coloured in but you gotta paint in between the lines or it looks weird,” Neymar quickly instructs, already hurrying off to grab his training bag and his gear.

“Sure, good luck out there,” Isco says, inspecting the outline of the backdrop.

“Thanks, see you later!” Neymar shouts, running back up the aisle between the chairs and leaving the theatre with a loud bang of the door.

Painting without needing to think about what he’s really painting proves to be quite calming. Isco takes his time with the brush, carefully spreading the paint between the lines which have to resemble the ridges of the pillar. Eventually he grabs a darker colour of grey, trying to blend the colours into a slight shadow.

He’s mumbling the lines of Act 4, scene 2 out loud, reciting it all by heart as he paints. It’s driving his parents mad, the way he keeps talking to himself as Coriolanus, but he can’t help it. It has to become a standard mechanism before the play starts, so even if he does have a black-out he has something to fall back on.

“Rethinking your job in the production?”

Isco turns around at the voice. Toni is standing halfway down the aisle, his hands pushed into the pockets of his dark blue jeans.

“No, not really,” he says, turning back towards the backdrop. Everything about Toni screams _awkward as hell_ and Isco just woke up, okay? He can’t possible woo him at ten in the morning, his charms only start up after noon. “Neymar had to get ready for the game so he asked me if I could finish up. Does it even look like a pillar or am I just painting a long grey nothing here?”

Toni walks down the aisle and hoists himself up on the stage, his half-long grey coat bunching up around his knees. He strokes his hands over it to straighten the fabric as he walks over to Isco. Leaning in a little closer, he inspects the painting. Isco breathes softly through his mouth after he catches a whiff of that fancy-ass cologne Toni is wearing again. _It’s like he’s asking for him to lean in!_

“It looks good,” Toni eventually says, his voice a little constrained. He steps back and Isco can’t help but scoff at the respectable distance Toni tries to put between them. Ignoring him, Toni continues, “I like what you did with the different shades of paint, it makes the shadow and the ridges stand out.”

“Thanks,” Isco says, picking up a smaller brush to carefully paint along the lines. “That’s what I was going for.”

Toni hums, taking another step back when Isco moves over a bit. _Take another and fall off the stupid stage, idiot,_ Isco thinks evilly, without actually meaning it at all. Ugh, he can’t even think actual mean thoughts about Toni anymore, what is happening to him?

“So, why are you here actually?” Toni asks. “Did you have a question about a dialogue, or anything?”

Shaking his head, Isco bends down to stir the brush in the small mason jar filled with water. “Nah, not really. Cris had to be here early so I thought I’d join him.”

“Right, last game of the season,” Toni nods.

Taking a deep breath and keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the backdrop, Isco asks, “It starts in about fifteen minutes. You wanna come watch it with me? It’s really cold outside so the more people on the benches, the more we can huddle together to stay warm.”

It stays quiet for a long time after that. Isco clenches his jaw, pressing his teeth tightly on top of each other. He barely keeps himself from dropping his head against the carton of the backdrop, figuring the situation would only get worse if he covered his whole face in paint.

Eventually Toni breathes in sharply, clearing his throat. “Isco, I don’t think that’s such a good plan, it’s not like—”

“Don’t worry, man, it’s not like I’m going to kiss you again or anything,” Isco snips, turning around to face Toni.

“Why not?” Toni says, and the way his cheeks colour pink make Isco think Toni hadn’t meant to say those words out loud.

He laughs, it’s short and clipped. “Why n—well, maybe because I’m not drunk off my ass right now, or really upset? And even though you kissed back and said you liked me, I didn’t really leave you that much of a choice when it came to the kiss. So like I said, don’t worry, next time we’re kissing, you’re the one who gets to start it.”

Toni’s stammering is absolutely glorious to watch. “I-I can’t do that, Isco.”

“I know, you’ve mentioned that before,” Isco shrugs, dropping the paint brush in the jar, a few water drops spattering on the floor. “But either way, we gotta move past what happened. And the way I see it, as long as we don’t kiss or do anything ‘inappropriate’,” Toni rolls his eyes at the way he pronounces it, “then I see nothing wrong with us being around each other, just like we were before.”

“I don’t know Isco,” Toni says, fixing his hair with one hand. “It’s not like I have any experience with liking a student.”

Isco sends him a sly smile, batting his eyelashes coyly. “I hope not, you’ll make me jealous.”

“See, that’s what I mean!” Toni splutters, gesturing at him. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Isco asks. “I did it way before anything ever happened, you’re used to it. You freaking talked innuendos to me on the first day, Toni. It’s the way we’ve always been, it’s normal.”

“It’s not _normal_ ,” Toni says, emphasising the last word.

“Yeah, well, it is to us, okay?” Isco says, crossing his arms. “And don’t deny it, we’ve been weird around each other from day one.”

Toni mirrors his stance, also crossing his arms. He says nothing, though. A silent agreement.

“So,” Isco says, “People are gonna notice if we’re being, like, overly formal to each other or whatever. Cristiano and Nacho have both asked me if I’ve been avoiding you over the past few weeks.”

“What do you suggest then?” Toni asks.

“Well, I would suggest that you kiss me, but y’know, you kind of rudely pushed that off the table with that whole being-an-adult thing you’ve got going on. Right now all I want is for you to be normal to me. In _our_ way, so weird-normal. And weird-normal for us is you being relaxed and yourself around me, and not this distant teacher way you’ve been lately.”

Toni gives him a small smile. “I guess you’ve got a  point there. Sorry for doing that. You’re right, we should at least try to be _us_ again. Without kissing or weird confessions.”

“Sure,” Isco smiles. “But that’s all on you though, I made the grand gesture and now the ball’s in your court. Your move, bruh.”

“Don’t call me _bruh_ ,” Toni says, his nose crinkling cutely as he frowns. “And rest assured, the ball is going to stay in my court. Nothing’s gonna happen between us.”

Isco licks his lips slowly, grinning in triumph when he catches Toni following the movement with his eyes. “Yeah,” he laughs, thwacking Toni on the arm as he walks past him, “We’ll see about that.”

-

It takes a while for the rest of the awkwardness to subside, but by the time they have finished cleaning up the paint and putting the backdrops and material back into storage, Toni is back to lecturing him on the negative effects of Red Bull. Isco has never enjoyed one of Toni’s _Listen to me,_ _I’m the responsible adult here_ admonishments more.

Locking the door of the theatre behind them, they walk through the abandoned hallway.

“It’s kinda sad though, that only Neymar and I showed up today,” Isco grins, twirling the ends of his scarf around through the air. “And you didn’t even see Neymar so all you had was me. And I annoy the shit out of you.”

Toni looks sideways, shaking his head at Isco’s glee. “You’re enjoying my suffering way too much.”

“At least I’m committed to Drama class, unlike the rest,” Isco shrugs. “That gives me the right to tease you about it, me thinks.”

“ _I think_ ,” Toni says, looking outside through the window. “I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee before you force me to go out and sit still in this brutal weather.”

“Awesome, you go do that. I’d like a cup of green tea,” Isco says, pushing the door to the back of the school open. “See you in the stands!”

The wind bites at his cheeks, and Isco pushes his scarf higher over his face as he walks towards the bleachers. They’re nearly filled with people already, true born Americans who can face this kind of weather easily, unlike his own fragile German. _Yeah, he might not get to say it out loud but Toni is totally his, suck it, haters._

He walks up the stairs, his shoes thumping on the steps. Cristiano’s parents are sitting near the top, talking animatedly with Leo’s parents. Isco grins, resisting the urge to pump his fist in the air victoriously. World War III is actually over between those two.

Sitting down, he waves at Luka. At least, he _thinks_ that’s Luka because all he can see is a marshmallow shaped lump of blanket, coat and scarf, with a small opening for the eyes. The lump waves back, though, so Isco figures it’s at least someone he knows.

Fixing his eyes on the field, he catches sight of Cristiano on the field. His friend is busy with the warm-up, stretching his calves. He’s closely standing next to Leo, talking to him and Jesé, and after their stretches he playfully pushes against Leo with his shoulder, cackling loudly at Leo’s indignant expression.

_Jesus, Cristiano can’t flirt for shit. He’s lucky Leo’s apparently obsessed enough with him not to notice._

“One green tea for you,” Toni says, walking up the steps and handing the steaming cup to Isco. He sits down on the bench next to him, folding both of his hands around his own cup. “And a coffee for me,” he hums, smiling contently.

“I can’t believe you lecture me on Red Bull all the time, yet you basically run on coffee yourself.” Isco fakes a loud cough. “Hypocrite.”

“Careful, or I’ll make you spill boiling water over yourself,” Toni says, his eyes fixed on the field. Isco glances at him from the side, looking at his jawline and his pink lips, small puffs of air escaping every time he breathes. Averting his eyes, Isco smiles to himself. _Them fucking butterflies man._

They sip on their hot drinks while the game gets underway. The team is playing Brighton Hill, and Isco hopes Cristiano can manage to score at least one goal against them. Last time they played the Hills, they injured Cristiano for three weeks because they kept putting more defenders on him whose only goal was to get their studs on Cristiano’s skin.

This time they’re playing just as physical, body checking Cristiano and Leo multiple times in the first half and Isco has already yelled at the referee twice, enraged at the ankle kicking that was going on.

Toni lets him shout, carefully drinking from his coffee with small sips, trying to make the warm drink last longer. Whenever Isco gets a little too passionate, he feels Toni tugging on the back of his coat, making him sit down again.

“The ref is going to send you away during halftime if you keep on insulting him like this,” Toni grins, bumping his shoulder against Isco’s. “So far they’re doing well, right? It’s nothing Cristiano can’t handle.”

Isco sighs, slumping a little and pressing his chin against the inside of the zipper on his coat. “I guess,” he mumbles. “It’s just that I can’t handle sitting here and watching Cris getting hurt. Or even that stupid non-boyfriend of his.”

“Non-boyfriend?” Toni repeats, confused.

“Messi,” Isco rolls his eyes. “I thought you’d notice that there’s a severe lack of hallway fights since that fateful night our lips collided in a passionate ki—”

“I get it!” Toni rushes, staring intently at Isco and slapping his knee. “And no, I hadn’t really noticed anything. They’re really dating?”

Isco preens at him, considering saying more things to tease Toni, because if it’s up to him, Toni can definitely repeat that whole knee slapping thing. _He could also just keep his hand there, Isco’s totally fine with that as well, just sayin’._

“Not so much dating, thank God,” Isco says, scooting a little closer to Toni. He nudges his arm underneath Toni’s, feeling the contact through the thick layers of their coats. Toni gives him a deadpan look but he doesn’t move his arm.

“They’re just flirting, I guess,” Isco continues, waving at Cristiano as his friend jogs over to the locker room for halftime. “It’s mostly that Cris smiles stupidly at every text he gets from Leo, and they’re eyeing each other from the other side of the cafeteria during the whole damn lunchbreak.”

Toni grins. “That’s nice for them. Although, you know, they’ll probably destroy stuff if they ever get into a fight again.” He crushes the empty coffee cup in his hands, setting it down on the floor.

“It’ll probably come down to me and Jesé trying to keep both of them locked in separate rooms until they’re calmed down.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Toni nods, giving him a soft smile.

They sit close to each other throughout the remainder of halftime and Toni actually has to physically hold him back when he wants to race down the steps to have a quick word with the referee before the second half kicks off.

Isco laughs when Toni successfully manages to get him back in his seat. “Keeping me out of trouble, hm? That’s very chivalrous of you, mister T.”

At the nickname, Toni frowns at him. “Who else is gonna prevent you from giving the ref a bloody nose? You’re actually kind of the worst person to watch a game with, your hands are all over the place and you can’t sit still for more than five minutes.”

Toni is teasing him and Isco pouts. “I’m sitting still right now, right? But yeah, maybe that’s only because of the importance of body heat in this weather and you’re hot, like, in both senses of the words.”

“Shut up,” Toni laughs, fixing his gaze back on the field and clearly struggling to make the corners of his mouth turn flat again.

“As for my hands,” Isco says, wiggling his eyebrows. He drags the pad of his thumb along the outer seam of Toni’s pants. “I told ya that you’d have to keep my hands busy if you wanted me to behave. And if I remember correctly, you promised to do so.”

Toni turns his gaze back on him, and this time it makes everything in him slow down. The piercing blue colour of Toni’s eyes is intensified by the way Toni’s looking at him. It’s as if – as if he’s really thinking of a solution to make sure Isco’s hands are busy, and by the way he’s looking at his lips, it’s probably not an appropriate solution.

Isco wants to bite his lower lip, just to see what kind of reaction that would get out of Toni. He doesn’t do it, though, probably because Toni looks about two seconds away from losing it.

“You’re really pushing it,” Toni says, his voice measured and tight. He’s bringing his eyes back up to meet Isco’s and holds their gazes locked for a while, before slowly turning his head back to the field.

Isco’s sure his knees are jelly by now. _God, the effect this man has on him is unbelievable._

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his numb fingers together, “Getting you on edge is like my default setting, apparently.”

“Yeah, well, resisting you isn’t mine,” Toni answers, his eyes still staring straight ahead.

If his eyes could roll out of his head, they would. _Did Toni basically just say that he was having trouble keeping his distance?_

While _We Are The Champions_ is triumphantly playing in his head, Isco frantically tries to think of something completely normal to ask Toni. _Boring stuff, come on, brain_. “Erm,” he says, “What are you doing this weekend?”

Toni gives him a measuring look, to which he quickly replies, “Not that I’m insinuating anything! Just asking what your plans are, y’know, like normal students ask their normal teachers every once in a while, like when they’re casually sitting next to each other during a school football game?”

His total fail at normalcy makes Toni smile a little. “Well, normal student of mine, I’m planning on watching bad reality TV shows with my cat, and wonder why I’m spending most of my time thinking about a certain _normal_ student.”

“Now who makes it inappropriate?” Isco says, indignantly nodding at Toni. The second round of _We Are The Champions_ starts up in his head, though, because Toni apparently likes him much more than he initially thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be completely impossible to make Toni snap right now. The idea is totally turning him on. He doesn’t want to take that chance on a crowded bleacher in the icy cold weather during a football game, though. He puts the possibility aside for later thought.

“Well, it’s the truth. My evenings are boring,” Toni shrugs, clearly oblivious to Isco’s inner monologues. “What are you doing?”

“Not much,” Isco shakes his head. “I’ll probably end up watching Home Alone with my parents, given that it’s the start of Christmas break and all. During the week, Jesé’s throwing a New Year’s Party.”

Toni smiles. “Right, two weeks of blissful nothingness ahead, in which I’ll probably eat my weight in food.”

“You got any plans on New Year’s?”

“A few,” Toni shrugs. “I’m going over to Gareth’s house, that’s Mr. Bale for you, to have dinner with him and his fiancée.”

“Poor Soon-to-be-Mrs-Bale because you and Bale will probably only talk about Shakespeare and cry over poems together while switching between boxes of cheap chocolate.”

“You’re so full of it,” Toni laughs, shaking his head.

Isco pulls his hood over his head, covering his ears, which will most likely break off any time soon now. “Meh, I think I’m pretty close to reality with that one.”

The shrill sound of the whistle snaps both of them out of their bubble-for-two, because apparently, the game has come to an end in the meantime. It reads 0-0 on the scoreboard, and Isco can see Cristiano’s thunderous expression from a mile away.

Looking back at Toni and meeting his eyes, he gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. He only now realises he’s not going to talk to Toni for a while, or even see him, for that matter.

“Well, erm, I guess I should go see if Cris needs a hug or something,” he says, awkwardly standing up from the bench. He walks past Toni’s knees, moving to go down the stairs, but his heart seizes up in his throat when Toni grabs his hand.

He immediately drops it as soon as Isco turns around, and looks kinda depressed. Isco’s tempted to ask who died, but then Toni gives him a small, hopeful smile.

“Just in case, of, I don’t know, whatever,” Toni stammers, “My number’s in the group chat. So, y’know, if you ever want to talk during the break, you can send me a message. If you want, of course.”

Isco beams at him, his heart beating fast. “Thank fuck you said that, because I would’ve never made that link until, like, the last day of the break and I’d probably throw bricks at every window in the city because of my own stupidity.”

Toni ducks his head to hide his smile, looking kind of bashful. “Well, I guess this is just another way of me keeping you out of trouble, right?”

Isco bites down on his lower lip. “Yeah, I guess it is…”


	10. Cristiano III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes out for lunch after the game, and Cristiano invites Leo over to his house.

Cristiano pulls his beanie off and smiles at Jesé, who’s holding the door of Minnie’s Diner open for him. The heater above the door is blazing loudly and Cristiano shrugs some of the outside chill off. Slipping out of his coat, he inhales the scent of fast food and ice cream

Jesé is looking past him, over his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at Cristiano. “Damn, dude. You’ve changed.”

Frowning, Cristiano turns his head, his eyes coming across Leo who is standing behind him. Leo’s brightly laughing with Dani, tugging Dani’s hoodie over his head and pulling the strings tight around his face. He turns back towards Jesé. “Excuse me?”

“Like, seriously,” Jesé says, his eyes big. He’s gesturing wildly, “When you were like ‘Hey Leo, wanna drive with me?’ in the locker room earlier I was, like, dead certain you was gon’ do something to him. Because of the game and the draw, and even though you’re one of my best friends, man, you can fuck a bitch up when you get mad. Like, those arms of yours could crush Leo’s head, easily. So I was like _Should I stop you?_ or something, but y’know, because you’re my bro I thought I’d let you do you, and if it ever really came to it I’d totally offer to help get rid of the body, if you know what I mean, hm? But now look at you, Leo’s still in one piece and you’re not giving anyone The Death Glare so what’s up with that?”

Cristiano stares at Jesé for a good ten seconds, until Leo pushes at his shoulder, grumbling, “We don’t wanna die of hyperthermia out here, Cris, move over.” Leo passes him, briefly squeezing Cristiano’s hip affectionately before going up to one of the empty booths and talking to a waiter.

“You’re messed up in the head, man. Did one of those defenders from Hills give you a concussion, or what?” Cristiano asks, shaking his head.

“You can’t blame me for being confused,” Jesé says, following Cristiano to the booth. “Y’all are like BFFs lately and it’s creeping the boys out. Look at that, he even saved you a seat next to him. This is like that episode on Star Trek where everything’s flipped and the whole crew is suddenly evil as shit. Except here everything’s still the same, except you and him. You sure the aliens didn’t take you in your sleep? Because I’ve seen documentaries, that shit’s real as fuck man.”

Rolling his eyes, Cristiano slides into the booth next to Leo. “Someone get Jesé something to eat, before he moves on to those Titanic conspiracy theories.”

“Hey,” Jesé says, holding his index-finger up. “That shit’s true as well, man. They only made that movie ‘cus the Irish government’s tryna hide it.”

“Okay,” Cristiano says dismissively, picking up one of the menus and holding it in front of his face. When Jesé starts talking to Àlvaro about the Titanic’s possible older sister-boat or whatever, Cristiano lowers the menu a bit and lets his eyes go over the options.

Leo leans in against him a little, their thighs pressed together. “What was that all about, hm?” he asks, looking over Cristiano’s shoulder at the milkshake category.

“He was being weird about us being weird,” Cristiano mumbles, wondering if he should get a salad or a burger. _Screw it, it’s Christmas break. He’ll have the biggest burger they have_. “And I can see you looking at the milkshakes, Leo. Forget it. If you spend, like, ten minutes complaining about brain freeze in the summer then I don’t wanna know what it’s like in the winter.”

Leo grins at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Cristiano gives him a small smile, his fingers twitching to stroke the pad of his thumb along Leo’s eyes.

“You remember that?” Leo asks.

“Of course I remember that,” Cristiano says, holding up the menu in front of both of their faces for a few seconds. “Because you stopped mid-blowjob to whine about it.”

A warm feeling forms in his stomach at the high blush on Leo’s cheeks, and it spreads when Leo has to clear his throat before he can tell the waiter his order. Cristiano smirks slightly, before turning towards the waiter and putting down his order as well.

The drinks arrive first, and he spends his time listening to his teammates. Most of the conversation consists of chirping the Hills’ players, which results in Kevin nearly tugging his leg up to his neck, showing everyone the indentations of studs in his shins. This is followed by an argument on which type of shinguards Kevin should buy, wherein the only thing everyone agrees over is that Kevin’s actually just a wuss and he should toughen up. Kevin then proceeds to sulk, frowning at his milkshake and refusing to answer teasing remarks until his fries arrive, and his hatred towards the guys consequently disappears.

Cristiano watches Leo tearing pieces from a napkin, not totally contributing to the conversation but smiling every once in a while, whenever someone says something stupid or funny. Or both, in Jesé’s case.

Cristiano really, really likes him like this. Leo, of course, not Jesé. _Ugh._

“Hey,” he says, not completely sure of what he’s trying to say right now. “You got any plans this afternoon?”

Leo seems a little surprised, but not negatively so. Dropping the paper strips from his hands, he crosses his arms and shrugs. The movement pushes him closer to Cristiano, and he feels Leo’s elbow against his arms through his sweater.

“No, not really,” Leo says. “On the evening before Christmas break, I usually go Christmas tree shopping with my dad over at Landon’s farm. But that’s tonight, so I’m free until dinner. What about you?”

Cristiano shakes his head. “Nothing planned, yet. I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place?” he asks, hoping that his flaming cheeks won’t be too noticeable. “I’ve got this really cool collection of different photo frames.” _Wow, what a fucking line, Cris. Well done, idiot._

Leo is pressing his lips tightly together, the corners wobbling a little as if he’s trying to hold in his laughter at Cristiano’s lame line. “Sure,” he says, the sound coming out a little choked, because he’s still trying to maintain his composure. “I’d love to see your photo frames collection.”

Cristiano nods awkwardly, ready to sing the entire song of _Hallelujah_ when a waitress appears with their food.

Taking a large, hearty bite from his burger, Cristiano moans as he chews. “Fucking ace,” he says, feeling sauce drip down his chin.

Leo gives him a blank stare. “Sexy.”

“Oh, fucking bite me,” Cristiano grins, around a mouthful. “I’m always sexy and you know it.”

Across from the table, Jesé looks and sounds like he’s having an aneurism. “Why are you two like this?” he exclaims, promptly dropping his burger back onto his plate with a _splat_.

“Shhh, you’ll jinx it!” Three of their teammates hiss at the same time, snapping their mouths shut at Cristiano and Leo’s confused faces.

“Jinx what?” Leo asks, slurping loudly from his straw.

Nacho looks around the table and then turns to them, shrugging a little. “Y’know, that whole happy thing you both got going on. A lot of the dudes feel like our fucking new born child finally sleeps through the night, so—”

“New born child?” Cristiano asks, mouth falling open.

Leo looks at him and cringes. “Seriously, I know your sexiness is off the charts, but come on, chew with your mouth closed.”

Cristiano snaps his jaw shut, chewing guiltily as everyone looks at him.

“Y’all are acting married as fuck,” Jesé states, and he somehow makes it sound as if they’ve committed murder. “What’s the catch here?”

“Yeah,” Nacho says, smiling. “Because we’re really enjoying the truce, or whatever, but it’s also kinda creepy?”

“There’s nothing going on, guys,” Leo says, using his captain-voice. Cristiano leans back against the cracked leather of the booth, truly enjoying being Second Captain right now, so he won’t have to deal with this shit. “Cristiano and I both decided that arguing wasn’t doing anyone any good, and granted, it took us a few years but we’re good now.”

“So, y’all are like… _friends_? Just like that?” Dani asks, narrowing his eyes at Leo.

“Not typically,” Cristiano says, flashing his smile at everyone. _He’s pretty sure he could make Jesé get a heart attack at the age of 18 if he told them the truth._ “But yeah, for argument’s sake, let’s keep it at that. We’re friendly. Now, my burger is getting cold so, are you guys calmed down enough?”

Their teammates hum softly, moving back to the conversation they were having before. Only Jesé stares at his burger, a suspicious look on his face. “This is just wrong,” he says, looking back up at Cristiano and Leo. “Don’t think that I won’t find out what you two are up to. _Big J_ always finds out.”

Cristiano chokes on a piece of lettuce, coughing loudly. Leo slaps him on his back, frowning at gurgling sound Cristiano makes.

“You’re lucky you can play good football, because you can’t eat for shit,” he sighs deeply, shaking his head in exasperation as he calmly chews on his own fries.

-

After parking the car onto the driveway and taking the key out of the ignition, Cristiano leans forward and peers at the house.

“Something wrong?” Leo asks, an amused smile on his face.

Cristiano shrugs, unbuckling himself. “No, it’s just that my parents might be home.”

“So?” Leo asks, also tugging the seatbelt loose. He gets out of the car, leaning against the side of it and staring up at the second floor, as if he’s trying to determine which one is Cristiano’s room.

“My parents are… kind of enthusiastic. About this,” Cristiano says, vaguely gesturing between them. He can’t prevent the slight cringe that pulls over his face. “Don’t take everything they say too seriously.”

“Okay,” Leo shrugs, the amused expression now accompanied by curiosity.

They walk up the porch and Cristiano opens the front door, dragging his shoes along the doormat and stepping inside.

“Mom, dad?” he calls out. No response follows and Cristiano breathes out. _Thank God_. He finds a note on the side table in the hall. “They’re off to the shops and will be back around four,” he tells Leo, “My mom was stressing this morning about whether she’d have enough time to watch the game and also buy enough food for Christmas.”

Leo shrugs. “Maybe we’ll catch her later,” he says. They both toe off their shoes and leave them at the door.

“Well, this is my house, I guess,” Cristiano shrugs, walking Leo into the living room and the adjoining kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Leo smiles. “Did you see my drink at the diner? You could water five gardens with that throughout a whole summer.”

Cristiano snorts, leaning against the counter. He stares at his socks, his lips twitching a little. “I totally regret asking you to come over to watch my photo frames,” he admits.

Leo’s expression falls, his shoulders hunching a little. “Oh…” he says, ducking his head a little. “I’m sorry, I… I guess I can leave? I just thought—”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Cristiano quickly says, crossing the distance between them. He lets his fingers slide along the inside of Leo’s arms, just making a connection between them. “It’s just that, I don’t know, I kinda wanted you to spend time with me and the first thing that came up was that stupid collection. I swear, I’m not actually _that_ lame.”

Leo’s face brightens again, a dimple dipping in his cheek. “You _are_ that lame, but that’s okay,” he shrugs. “I’d still be here if you were, like, a thousand times as lame.”

Cristiano wants to kiss him so badly, but he stays where he is. Even though they sort of un-called quits on whatever they had, they still haven’t done anything other than touching each other innocently. He hopes Leo can be the one who takes the first step now, since there is still a part of him that’s scared that one day Leo’s going to deny feeling anything for him, or for boys in general.

He clears his throat, taking a step back. “Well, I’m glad you still want to see my collection. Prepare to be majorly underwhelmed.”

They walk up the stairs to his room, and Cristiano watches Leo closely as he walks through the room. Leo’s studying the far side of the wall, the one that’s entirely covered in different kinds of photo frames.

“It’s actually really cool,” Leo says, sliding a finger along one of the more extensively crafted frames. He turns back around to Cristiano. “But why are the stock photos still in some of them?”

Cristiano shrugs. “Because all of the pictures that I liked are already in some of the frames. I’m taking more pictures this year, trying to fill the frames up. But, you know, I’m a perfectionist, so.”

“I get it,” Leo nods, sitting down on Cristiano’s bed and bouncing a little. Cristiano thinks Leo is probably also realising that this is the first time they’re in one of their bedrooms together. It’s strangely intimate, sharing this space where he has laughed, cried, screamed, thought, and smiled so much over the past ten years. But Leo does fit in perfectly in that picture, so Cristiano sits down next to him on the bed.

The mattress dips a little and Leo’s shoulder brushes against his. “Which one is your favourite, though? From the ones that actually have pictures in them,” Leo asks.

Cristiano turns his neck a little, picking up the scent of Leo’s shampoo. He lets his eyes scan over the pictures. Most of them are of his family and friends, and he laughs. “This one is definitely one of them.” He takes a frame off the wall and hands it to Leo.

Inside the frame is a picture of four-year-old him smiling brightly into the camera, while Isco is in the background, obnoxiously stuffing his face with handfuls of Cristiano’s chocolate birthday cake.

“Oh my God,” Leo laughs, fingers flexing around the iron frame. “It’s like both of you hardly changed. And Isco’s face, Jesus!”

Cristiano smiles, knocking his knees together. “I know, right? By the way, I do hope I’ve changed a little bit?”

Leo holds the frame up next to his face, the cold rim pressed against his cheek. He shrugs. “Meh, a little. Your eyes and smile are the same, but nowadays most of these curls are all gelled back.”

“Those curls bring out my baby face in full force,” Cristiano grins. “At least now I sort of look like I’m older than fourteen.”

Leo scowls, nearly looking personally insulted. “That’s not true. You don’t have a baby face, people can cut their finger on that jawline of yours.”

“Someone’s getting awfully defensive,” Cristiano smiles teasingly, leaning in Leo’s space. “Got a thing for my curls, then?”

“So what if I am,” Leo says. “I just remember that during the summer you never put any product in your hair, and we both know how I reacted to _that_.”

Even though Leo looks bashful, the words come out clearly and he stays close to Cristiano’s side. It makes Cristiano’s heart bounce against his ribs, a warm rush going through his body.

Leo gently slides his hand in Cristiano’s, their fingers tangling together. Squeezing briefly, Leo leans in and presses his lips against the soft, smooth skin behind Cristiano’s ear. The contact makes a shudder pull through Cristiano’s body, his knees are weak and his feet feel heavy.

“Leo,” he whines, flexing his fingers a bit when he realises he’s been nearly crushing Leo’s in his grip. Every worry and doubt he had about Leo’s intentions disappear. “Fuck, get over here.”

He turns his head and before Leo can pull back, he pushes their lips together in a kiss. Leo lets out a sigh, his breath warm against Cristiano’s skin. Their fingers untangle and Leo slides both of his hands in Cristiano’s neck, pulling them even closer together.

Cristiano blindly follows Leo’s lead the second Leo opens his mouth and nibbles softly on Cristiano’s lower lip. Parting his lips, he lets Leo’s tongue explore in the slick warmth of his mouth. His jaw goes slack when Leo pushes harder, always fighting and obtaining his dominance. Cristiano couldn’t be happier and he lets his hands slide down to the waistband of Leo’s jeans, tugging him in by the belt loops.

Leo goes easily, settling his legs on either side of Cristiano’s thighs. Cristiano sucks on Leo’s tongue when Leo’s ass brushes over his cock. His jeans are tight and uncomfortable, his half-hard length already leaving a wet spot on the inside of his boxer briefs.

He loves kissing Leo so much, because Leo doesn’t give him a fucking second to catch up. One second Leo’s kissing him deep and soft, and the next minute he’s pressing these dirty, open-mouthed kisses on his lips, his tongue curling teasingly against Cristiano’s as their lips do not touch. Kisses like those drastically affect his thinking process, fingers stumbling over the movements as he wants to hold onto Leo tighter.

A startled moan escapes from his throat when Leo’s hands slide upwards, his fingers tangling in the gelled strands of Cristiano’s hair. He’d done it after his post-game shower, so his hair is still tightly held into place.

“Ow, fuck,” he mutters in between kisses, when Leo grabs another handful of hair. His mind doesn’t register how he goes from half hard to nearly coming in his pants, but hey, he’s willing to roll with it because Leo makes him feel _so good_.

The weight of Leo’s body on top of his thighs, and the rough slide of denim against the thin fabric of his shirt overwhelm his thoughts. When Leo’s hand pushes against his chest, he lies back automatically, his fingers grabbing hold of Leo’s hips when Leo settles down on top of him.

“Cris, you look, so, so,” Leo pants on top of him, his hips grinding against Cristiano’s, pushing him into the mattress with every push. “Fuck, your hair.”

Cristiano feels a few loose strands falling over his forehead, the ends visible in his sight. “Messing me up good, aren’t you,” he smiles, relaxing his neck when Leo dives down, his lips connecting to the skin above Cristiano’s collarbone.

Leo is using his grip on Cristiano’s hair and neck to give himself the leverage to push their groins together, both of them hard in their jeans. Cristiano presses the back of his head in the soft plush of his comforter, giving Leo all the space he needs to suck a hickey just above his collar. One of his hands lands in the nape of Leo’s neck, his fingers rubbing through Leo’s short hair.

Bringing one hand down from Cristiano’s neck, Leo pushes it under Cristiano’s arm so he can hold onto Cristiano’s shoulder, their cocks bumping and sliding along each other.

Cristiano makes a whining sound high in his throat. “Leo, I don’t,” he mutters, meeting Leo’s eyes when Leo lifts his head, “Don’t wanna come in my pants.”

Leo’s grin can’t be interpreted as anything other than cocky as hell, and he leans in, sliding his tongue alongside Cristiano’s for a second, before pulling back. “Nearly making you come in your pants without a hand on you.”

“Congratulations.” Cristiano still manages an impressive eye roll, even though his whole body is begging for Leo to push him over the edge. “You gonna get on with it or should I do it myself?” He wrestles one of his hands between their bodies, pulling the button on his jeans loose and pressing the zipper down.

“Tempting, maybe next time I’ll sit back and watch you,” Leo whispers against his lips. He shuffles down the bed, tugging Cristiano’s pants and briefs down in one go.

Cristiano bites distractedly at a loose sliver of skin on his lower lip. His cheeks are blazing hot when Leo gets up on his knees, unbuckling his belt, popping the button and pushing his jeans down his hips. He feels too fucking impatient, especially with a sight like that in front of him, so he reaches up and pulls Leo down by his arms.

“Oompf,” Leo lets out, landing on top of Cristiano’s chest. “I could’ve knocked your teeth out with my forehead, there.”

“Don’t care,” Cristiano mumbles, too preoccupied with tugging down the waistband of Leo’s boxers and letting the elastic band snap halfway down his thighs.

He’s seen Leo’s cock multiple times by now, but it still makes all the blood in his body divide to his cheeks and to his own cock. Swallowing hard at the sight of the pearl white pre-come gathering at the tip, Cristiano tears his eyes away and meets Leo’s.

Leo smiles knowingly, pushing himself up slightly by his elbows and he arranges their cocks side by side, pressing them together experimentally. “Shit,” he mutters, his cock angling against Cristiano’s as he lies back down.

“Come on,” Cristiano mutters, pushing his hips up and letting out a shuddery sigh. His cock is already wet and he’s sweaty, making the drag between their bodies slick and hot.

Planting his elbows in the mattress, Leo shoves his hips sharply against Cristiano’s. A small puddle of pre-come gathers underneath Cristiano’s navel with every push and pull, and he brackets Leo’s hips in between his thighs. His heels dig into the denim of Leo’s jeans.

“Fucking hell, Cris,” Leo pants, the rhythm of his thrusts faltering when he brings his head down, pressing his lips down against Cristiano’s t-shirt. His tongue and saliva make Cristiano’s nipples puff up, clearly visible through the thin shirt.

A loud rattle reaches Cristiano’s ears and he turns his head sideways, careful not to knock the top of his head against the headboard with the vicious pushes of Leo’s hips. The photo frame has dropped onto the floor, the glass still intact.

Leo uses Cristiano’s temporary distraction to reach up and suck harder against the hickey he already left on Cristiano’s skin. Worrying his teeth over the skin between his lips, he lets go and leans back to admire his work. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters, kissing Cristiano.

“Possessive fucker,” Cristiano sighs, the words losing some of their bite because his voice is high and breathy. The head of Leo’s cock pushes up against his perfectly, and he feels the tension in his thighs burning.

“You gonna come?” Leo asks, bringing his hand to Cristiano’s cock and he thumbs at the slit.

Letting out a keening sound, Cristiano’s back arches into the touch. “Yes,” he pants. Leo jacks him off with a maddening pace, pre-come dripping down his cock and slickening the pull of his fingers. It’s fucking torture, but in the best way ever.

“Do it, come on. I wanna see your face, wanna see—” Leo’s voice is desperate and gravelly, and it pushes him over the edge.

His closes his eyes as he comes, his cock twitching in Leo’s grip and the white fluid drips down his abs. He’s vaguely aware of Leo’s moans, and he grins dazedly at the ceiling as he feels Leo’s cock sliding through the mess on his stomach.

“Fuck,” Leo bites out, dropping his forehead against Cristiano’s as he comes hard, his come mixing together with Cristiano’s on his stomach.

Cristiano keeps his eyes open, staring at Leo from this close is something completely new. Leo’s eyelashes are mushed between his squeezed-shut eyes, and there are freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“God,” Leo sighs, his lips warm against Cristiano’s. He scoots downwards a bit, leaning the side of his face against Cristiano’s chest and pressing the cold tip of his nose against Cristiano’s neck.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Cristiano laughs, breathily. He presses his own nose in Leo’s hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo again.

Leo brings his hand up, splaying his fingers wide over Cristiano’s chest. “I can feel it,” he says, his words coming out a little slurred as his lips are pressed against Cristiano’s neck. “I made your heart race faster than it does when you’re playing football.”

Cristiano picks up the satisfied tone in Leo’s smile. “Over-achiever,” he tells him, but he brings his arm up around Leo’s body, letting his hand fall in the dip of Leo’s waist.

This, right here, is _really_ nice. Before, they never so much as exchanged a touch or sometimes even a look after they got off, both of them eager to get back to their own lives. But now, with Leo’s lithe frame curled up against his, on his own bed… Cristiano feels like he can stay like this for a while.

He does look down to meet Leo’s eyes, though. Just to make sure. “You okay?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Leo replies, his eyelids dropping down a little. He looks tired, red splotches of exertion high on his cheeks.

Cristiano shrugs. “It’s okay to freak out, y’know. We just got off together without being furious at each other. That’s quite a step for us.”

Leo’s eyes are soft and sleepy. “I like it. And no, I’m not freaking out.” He scoots a little closer to Cristiano, the comforter underneath them bunching up.

Sparing a glance at the clock, Cristiano figures they can get away with a quick nap before his parents come home. It wasn’t like they had the longest sex run ever. And yeah, maybe it was over fast but the work-up they needed to get exactly _right here_ had taken them long enough. Tugging Leo close to his chest, Cristiano lets his eyes fall closed. They can stay in this moment for a little longer.


	11. Toni III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve from Toni's perspective.

“Oh my God,” Toni says, leaning back against his chair and putting his fork down next to his plate. “Emma, you’re a gift. I haven’t eaten this well since I got here.”

Emma smiles at him from across the table, sipping from her red wine. “Thanks, Toni. I’m glad you like it, it turned out better than I thought it would.”

“You ever made this dish before?” Toni asks, wiping the corners of his mouth with a white cotton napkin.

“Oh, I wish,” Gareth grins, holding onto Emma’s hand. “Usually she sends me into the kitchen to make dinner.”

“That’s because you’re always home by five,” Emma replies.

“Yeah, so am I,” Toni nods, “But I usually spent at least one hour lying face down on my couch, wondering why I ever chose this line of profession, before I can get up and function again.”

Emma laughs. “You don’t mean that! Gareth tells me all the time how well the rehearsals for the play are going.”

“They’re going very well, yes. I actually have no right to complain, since I only have four classes. Gareth has ten, right?”

Gareth grimaces. “Twelve, this year. But it’s okay, most of my classes are scheduled after P.E., so they all let me carry on with my lesson plan as long as I don’t make them answer any questions.”

“Besides,” Toni points out, “The worst few months are over already.”

“Really?” Emma asks, “Are the months before the Christmas break always the hardest? I thought they wouldn’t be, since it’s kind of a small period after a long summer break.”

Toni takes a sip from his wine, nodding slowly. “True, but the thing is, during November these kids somehow think the year is almost over and they completely shut down. There’s a kid, Jesé Rodriguez, and he was already wearing reindeer antlers three days after Halloween.”

Gareth hums. “Yes, and they all hung up Christmas decorations in their lockers already. Even though the break was over a month away!”

Emma laughs, stacking the empty plates on top of each other. “You’re both talking like old men, I’m pretty sure all of us were like that at that age.”

“The life of a teacher makes your heart turn to stone,” Gareth says, his voice dramatically dropping. “I don’t feel a single thing for those creatures.”

Toni laughs at his friend’s tone, shaking his head slowly. He stands up from the table and help Emma clear the table.

“You guys have a lovely home,” he says, looking around the kitchen. “How long have you had it?”

Emma puts a hand on her hip, twisting her lips as she think. “About a year now? If you don’t count all the months we’ve worked on it. Seriously, Toni, don’t invest in a house until you’re really sure you want to raise kids in it. The stairs alone cost about three thousand dollars.”

“Jesus,” Toni mumbles, staring at the stairs. “It’s a nice stairs, though. But yeah, you’re right. It’s easy to underestimate all the work and money that goes into a house.”

“Do you have your own place, back in Germany?” Emma asks him, opening the freezer and taking out the ice cream. They hear Gareth puttering around in the living room, probably looking for the movie they were going to watch until the clock strikes twelve.

Toni picks up the bowls and spoons, and they walk back into the living room. “Not really,” he answers. “I had to divide my time between Leipzig and London, and my parent’s home, so. In London I usually stayed in hotels for the duration of the play, but I had an apartment in Leipzig.”

“Busy life,” Emma says, sinking down on the couch. “Honey,” she tells Gareth, “You put the movie in the Prison Break box, so you wouldn’t forget where you put it. Obviously, that didn’t work.”

“Oh right,” Gareth grins, opening the case and taking out the DVD for Shawshank Redemption.

Putting two scoops of strawberry ice cream into his bowl, Toni leans back against the couch. He sinks comfortably into the pillows. “You’re going to make me cry by the end of the night, I guarantee it,” he says, putting some ice cream into his mouth.

“That’s the whole point,” Gareth laughs, straightening up and sitting down onto the couch as well.

The movie starts playing on the screen, and Toni smiles, enjoying his New Year’s Eve so far.

-

It’s 00.23 and it’s 2016. They had been startled out of the movie when the fireworks suddenly began. Gareth had sheepishly announced that he maybe didn’t put the clock back on the right time when he changed the batteries, which results in eye rolls from both him and Emma.

They paused the movie, popped a Champagne bottle and exchange New Year’s wishes with each other. And then they slumped back into the couch, pressing play on the movie again. It’s the most relaxed and down-to-earth New Year’s Toni has ever had, and he fucking loves it.

Right now, he’s blinking repeatedly, his vision clearing up again. Wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, he looks sideways. Both Emma and Gareth seem to have fallen asleep, slumping against each other a bit.

Toni grins, figuring that’s probably what nearly-married couples do. Falling asleep just barely after New Year’s.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he takes it out. A feeling of vertigo briefly goes through his body when he sees the name on the screen. _Isco._

They’ve texted each other a little, throughout the break. Mostly it was just Isco sending him things like **i made gingerbread cookies and theres one that looks just like you** or **is german a sexy language? i don’t really have anything to go on except ww2 movies and that shits not sexy at all**. It drives Toni slightly crazy, but it also makes his day at the same time, which is basically the effect Isco as a whole has on him.

Unlocking the screen, he reads the new message. **HAPPY NEW YEAR wat u doing?**

Rolling his eyes, Toni types back. **Happy New Year, Isco. I’m watching the Shawshank Redemption with your English teacher and his fiancée.**

The reply comes nearly immediately. **lol i bet you’re crying right now.** And another one follows. **which is totally cool bcs i like a guy whos in touch with his emotions**. And that text is followed by a string of more than twenty different emojis.

Sighing, but at the same time letting out a soft chuckle, Toni types back. **I’m not crying. What are you doing tonight?**

He turns the phone around in his hand, tapping it softly on his knee. The movie is just about reaching the reunion scene between Andy and Red, and he feels his lower lip wobbling again. _Why is he like this, seriously?_

His phone buzzes again, and he looks down. **At Jesé’s party. but he made the punch 3x too strong so every1 is passed out. except me bcs i’m responsible as fuck.** Toni raises his eyebrow sceptically at his phone, and, there it is. **no i’m actually not. i just don’t like punch. But cris and leo disappeared somewhere so :/ can i call you?**

Toni bites down on his lower lip. He’d love to hear Isco’s voice again after more than a week. Missing Isco came quicker than he thought it’d be. He looks up at the screen where the credits are rolling. Maybe it’s time to call it a night.

He clears his throat, setting his empty glass of champagne back on the salon table. Emma straightens, not as far off as Gareth apparently is.

“Hey,” she smiles sleepily, stretching her arms above her head. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve warned you beforehand that Gareth and I are literally eighty years old in the evening.”

Toni laughs. “It’s okay, I didn’t even notice until I was the only one sobbing.”

“Damn, so sad we missed that,” Emma says. “It was really nice having you over, Toni.”

“Yeah, I really enjoyed it. We should do it again sometimes. Maybe once I make sure my apartment isn’t giving off the _I really shouldn’t be allowed to live by myself_ vibe anymore, I’ll invite you guys over for coffee?”

“Sounds great,” Emma nods. “Gareth told me about your killer coffee machine.”

“Oh, it’s the best,” Toni assures her, standing up from the couch. “Again, thanks for the great food and company.”

“Anytime. Here, let me walk you out,” Emma says.

Toni gives Gareth’s hair a quick ruffle as he walks over to the hallway, putting his coat on. Giving Emma a kiss on either cheek, he walks out into the cold and the snow, and clicks his car open. “Sleep tight,” he waves, getting into his car.

Emma waves back, a few flecks of snow catching in her braided hair.

-

The long streets downtown are deserted, traffic lights jumping on green when Toni’s car nears. He watches fireworks exploding in the sky over the horizon, flexing his cold fingers around the steering wheel.

His phone is in the holder, attached to the window. It lights up with another text from Isco. **you didn’t answer my question :(**

Biting his lower lip, Toni lets his finger hover over the screen. It’s a slippery slope they’re on, and calling Isco would be like throwing both of them headfirst down the hill. Then again, he also knows that ever since Isco already dragged them over the line of sort-of-buddies, there’s really no going back. Down the hill they’re going, anyway.

So he presses the call button and listens to the dial tone. It dials a few times until Isco picks up, and at first all Toni hears is loud, thumping music.

“Happy New Year!” Isco suddenly crows, his voice filling the otherwise empty and silent car.

Toni does nothing to stop the smile from breaking out on his face. _God, he really misses him._ “Happy New Year, Isco,” he says, turning on his signal and going around a corner. “You having fun?”

“What?” Isco yells, following it up with, “Wait, wait, lemme get somewhere quieter.” The music fades to background noise when Isco says, “What were you saying?”

“I asked if you were having fun? You said that Cristiano and Leo disappeared, have you found them already?”

“The party’s alright but yeah, almost everyone’s passed out by now. And no, I haven’t found them yet, and I’m not gonna look for them. Seriously, they were eye fucking each other the whole night and they made _me_ sit between them! I wouldn’t be surprised if they disappeared to a room somewhere upstairs.”

Toni raises his eyebrows. “And you’re okay with that?”

“No!” Isco sounds petulant, rather than angry. “But everyone was sucking face throughout the evening so I’m horny as fuck, which got me in a bit of a mood.”

He’s sure his cheeks are flushing, listening to Isco complain about being horny. Clearing in his throat, he says, “Well, if the party’s dead and you’re not enjoying yourself, why not go home?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Isco says. “My parents are having a fancy-ass wine party with their friends and I already told them I’d crash here. But all the rooms are taken and the sounds coming through the doors aren’t helping my situation at all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Toni says, genuinely feeling bad. “I wish this night had gone better for you.”

“Yeah, well.” Toni can picture Isco shrugging by the tone of his words. “It’s not the end of the world. But enough about me, how was your night? Dried your tears yet?”

Toni chuckles. “Yeah, it was fine. Gareth’s fiancée is extremely nice, and she made the best food I’ve tasted over here so far. The steak was perfect, and I don’t know what she put in the gravy but I was tempted to lick my plate clean after I finished. Other than that, we just talked, drank wine, and then watched a movie together. They both fell asleep halfway through, but it was nice. It trumps last year’s New Year’s Eve in Germany with my grandparents, that’s for sure.” He bites his lower lip. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s great,” Isco says, his voice gone soft and fond. “I missed hearing you talk.”

“Isco…”

“No, I mean it,” Isco continues. “Don’t get me wrong, vacations are great, but I just had millions of things I wanted to tell you and then felt pretty stumped when I couldn’t.”

Warmth blooms in Toni’s chest. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Stupid stuff, really. Just the normal shit. Like the other day I saw an add for chicken wings and it had, like, really good use of alliteration so I thought _Toni’s gonna love that shit_ but then I couldn’t tell you so… It just sucks, is all.”

Toni doesn’t need to be wooed with roses, and candles, and heartfelt poems. No, these kind of words are enough for him. _More_ than enough. So he doesn’t feel bad when he says, “I really miss you, too.”

“You do?” Isco sounds hopeful.

“Yeah, I—,” Toni hesitates. “I just miss your comments on everything, you’re whole presence, really.”

“Me too,” Isco mumbles. Toni hears him breathing for a few seconds, before Isco speaks up again, “Can I… Erm, maybe I can—never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Toni asks, turning his car into the garage of his apartment building. “Talk to me.”

Isco is silent for a while again, and Toni patiently waits as he holds his card in front of the scanner and waits for the bar to rise.

“Can I see you?”

The breaks of his car squeak loudly as Toni jerks down too hard on the pedal. “What?”

“No, like I said, never mind,” Isco stammers, “I know that it’s completely inappropriate and all that shit.”

His fingers get caught as he drags a hand through his hair, tugging the key out of the ignition. “It’s really late, Isco,” he eventually says, because there’s no way he can say no to Isco and make it sound like he’s not lying. “It’s practically early, even. Besides, your parents are going to miss you.”

“No, no. Like I said, they know I’m gonna sleep somewhere else.”

Toni shakes his head, slowly leaning forward and resting his forehead on the cold leather of the steering wheel. He swallows hard, glancing at the screen of his phone. It’s 1:43 right now, and he’s as awake as he can get. And he wants.

He wants to see Isco so badly, just to hear him bitch about Toni’s stupid grown-up khaki pants or the average age of sixty-three in his neighbourhood. They can make it work, Toni tells himself. It’s just… It’s just a meeting between two people, nothing more.

A meeting in the middle of the night. With Isco feeling “horny as fuck” and himself feeling like he’s strung as tight as a guitar string. And he’s damn close to snapping, too.

“Do you want to come over to my place?” His voice is hoarse and muffled, as he’s still leaning his head on the steering wheel. He slowly brings it back up, rubbing at his forehead.

“Are you serious?” Isco asks him, sounding a little breathless.

“I-I think I am,” Toni says quickly, suddenly not wanting to think anymore. He just wants to let himself have this. Even if it’s just for a few minutes at the beginning of 2016, he wants it.

“Then yeah, of course,” Isco says. “I have my car here.”

“And you didn’t drink any alcohol?” Toni asks, because he’s still an adult, okay.

“No, I didn’t, I told you that already.” He can practically hear Isco’s eyes rolling. “Can you give me your address?”

Toni opens the door of his car, getting out. He recites the address for Isco as he grabs the phone from the holder, closes the car off and walks to the elevator.

He takes the phone off of speaker, pressing it against his ear. His reflection stares back at him in the elevator, his pupils blown wide and his hair messy on top of his head. He softly chews on his tongue, listening to Isco saying that it’s close to Jesé’s house, and he can be there in ten minutes.

“Apartment 822,” Toni says, stepping out of the elevator and going left. “It’s on the eighth floor, left side. You’ll need to press the buzzer downstairs and I’ll open the door for you.”

“Okay, I… I guess I’ll leave right now then,” Isco sounds breathless. “See you in a bit.”

“See you soon.”

Toni sounds and feels just as breathless.

-

He spends eight minutes pacing through his apartment, dumping old magazines in the rush basket underneath the salon table, putting empty glasses in the sink, and dimming the lights to a pleasant glow. During the other two minutes he stands in front of the mirror, making sure his hair is brushed away from his eyes in the right way and that there are no sneaky gravy stains anywhere on his clothes. Ninety-three seconds he paces through the apartment, in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows along the long side. Every once in a while there’s a firework erupting over the horizon.

When the buzzer goes off, it seems fifty notches louder than normally, and Toni paces over to the door. He sees the top of Isco’s head on the screen, his black hair peeking out from under a beanie.

He presses the button, and leans his back against the wall beside the door. It takes a while, but then he hears footsteps nearing the apartment. It takes some willpower not to fling the door open before Isco even gets there. He’s twenty-four, he has some patience.

But then there’s knuckles knocking on the wood, and Isco is on the other side. Toni takes a deep breath, waiting for another few seconds and then— _he’s right there._

Isco is standing in his hallway, one hand pushed deep into his hoodie and his laces messily pushed into the sides of his shoes. He’s holding a bottle of champagne in the other hand.

Their eyes meet and Toni laughs, _really_ laughs. “You brought me alcohol?”

“I brought you a gift,” Isco says pointedly, and Toni’s heart sings when he once again notices those teasing glints in Isco’s eyes, which mean he’s talking shit. “Aren’t you supposed to bring gifts to people you’re wooing?” He holds up the bottle and Toni takes it.

He’s deliberately being cheesy, but Toni is nothing if not competitive, so he coyly says, “But Isco, aren’t _you_ the only gift I need?”

Isco cracks a grin. “Alright, nicely played.”

Toni steps aside, gesturing with his arm. “Come in.” He makes sure to enjoy Isco’s warmth sweeping by him as Isco walks into his apartment.

Isco’s winding off his scarf and kicking off his shoes. Toni walks past him to put the champagne on the counter. He smiles when he hears Isco’s low whistle.

“What?” he asks, walking back into the hallway. “You already found something to make fun of?”

“It’s a nice place you got here,” Isco says, his fingers swooping along the frame of the painting. It’s Leipzig by night, a gift from his parents before he left for the U.S. “Of course, it looks like it’s the home of a forty-year-old, but hey, it’s your place so no surprises there.”

Toni grins, once again feeling the slight buzz of excitement and happiness he gets when he’s near Isco. And it only gets more intense as he watches Isco move through his apartment, inspecting the spines of the books in his bookcase.

He walks further into his apartment, watching Isco press the palm of his hand against the glass windows, peering down at the streets below. Coming to stand next to him, Toni sees the artificial lights from outside reflecting on Isco’s face.

His fingers tingle and he says, “Come here.”

Isco’s breath forms a faded patch of condensation on the window, but he moves over, into Toni’s open arms. And he just _fits._

Toni turns his head sideways and presses his nose against Isco’s woollen beanie, inhaling the faint scent of his hair. He locks his hands together on the small of Isco’s back, the warm weight of him steady against his chest. Isco has a hand curled upwards, fingers catching on the rumpled collar of Toni’s shirt. Whenever Isco breathes, Toni can feel it against the skin of his throat.

Ducking his head deeper, as if he’s trying to get closer, Isco mumbles, “Thank you.”

Toni wants to say that Isco doesn’t need to thank him, because this is probably making him feel just as at eased as it does for Isco.

And it’s easy like this, to forget whatever boundaries they are breaking, because he’s leaning against the window with the cold of the glass seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and he’s holding Isco in arms. Isco, who fits perfectly underneath Toni’s chin and who always jokes and laughs loudly all the time, but is now silent and warm, radiating happiness against him.

They hold each other close like that for a while, indulging in the feeling that they normally can’t let themselves feel. Toni’s neck starts to cramp up after a while, his shoulder blades cold from the glass. He slowly lets go of Isco, rubbing his hands up and down Isco’s arms.

“You want something to drink?” Toni asks him. “Some of your fancy champagne?”

Isco smiles, dropping his hand from where it was still holding onto Toni’s shirt. “No, you should save that for a special occasion.” Toni opens his mouth and Isco cuts him off. “A more special occasion than this, dummy. We’re just being weird right now, while it’s only been a week since we last saw each other.”

“I’m glad you said we were both being weird, because you were the one that called me in the first place.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your texts are boring and don’t satisfy me,” Isco shrugs, trailing after Toni as he walks to the kitchen. “I mean it, my mom texts with more emotion than you do.”

Toni snorts. “I’m sure I’m not that bad. I just have my autocorrect installed.”

“So do I,” Isco says, hoisting himself up on the counter of the kitchen island. He yawns, but his eyes are still bright. “I just beat my autocorrect into submission so now it doesn’t even try anymore.”

“Sounds pretty violent,” Toni smiles, putting two glasses on the counter next to Isco’s hip. “Want a coke? It’s nearly two and you’re yawning, so who’s the old person now, huh?”

“I’m still growing, that’s why I’m tired,” Isco says dismissively. “At least I _hope_ I’m still growing.”

Toni laughs, filling their glasses with Coca Cola Zero and he hands one of them to Isco. “May you continue to grow in 2016, both physically but preferably mentally as well.” He clinks the rim of his glass against Isco’s, who scowls half-heartedly at him but then sips from his drink as well.

Isco’s lips are pink and wet from the drink and Toni can’t keep his eyes off of them. With Isco sitting on the counter like this, they’re basically the same height. Toni swallows hard and puts his empty glass in the sink. He knows this was bound to happen anyway, so why keep both of them in suspense any longer?

He steps forward towards Isco, who lets his knees fall open so Toni can stand in between his legs. The metal of his belt softly clangs against the counter of the kitchen island.

Isco said it, just over a month ago, how Toni is the only person he can think about. He hopes it’s still true, because he can’t stop himself anymore.

Bringing his hands up to slide in Isco’s neck, fingers catching on the warmth of his skin, Toni leans in and presses his lips against Isco’s. A soft gush of air escapes from Isco’s lips but his hands find Toni’s waist, lightly holding onto his shirt.

Inching closer, and pulling Isco towards him, Toni moves his lips and deepens the kiss, teeth softly catching on Isco’s lower lip. The contact makes Isco’s fingers tighten, and Isco opens his mouth, slotting their lips together firmly.

The first touch of Isco’s tongue against his own makes a low groan escape from Toni’s throat. Isco’s tongue is warm and he moves it with intent, making Toni’s toes curl. His hand slides upwards, tangling in Isco’s hair. He accidently pulls on it when Isco flicks his tongue just _perfect_ , and he wants to apologize, but Isco lets out a moan and digs his fingers in the soft flesh of Toni’s waist.

Toni is half-hard already after a few minutes of just kissing, one of his hand’s sliding down the length of Isco’s upper body. He feels the muscle spanned over Isco’s shoulder blade, as well as the outline of his ribcage through his shirt. His hand stops on the small of Isco’s back and he pushes, sliding their groins together.

“Fuck, Toni,” Isco mumbles, his lips catching on Toni’s.

He can feel that Isco’s body is responding just like his own, and it makes him feel happy and relieved that they’re both on the same page.

“Couch,” he mumbles, sliding his hands down to grasp Isco’s and he helps him off the counter.

Isco twists his hands a bit to tug at the bottom of Toni’s shirt as they walk over to the couch. “Lose this while you’re at it,” he says.

Toni lets out a breathy laugh but he obeys, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the wooden floor. Isco is on him in a second, latching his lips onto his collar bone and roaming his hands along Toni’s bare back. He moves his hands to the front and pushes lightly against Toni’s sternum, making Toni sit down on the couch.

When Isco takes his shirt off, Toni bites the rosy flesh on the inside of his lip. Isco might still be growing into his body, but he’s lean and his hipbones peek out just above the waistband of his jeans.

“My confidence is really levelling up with you looking at me like that,” Isco says, a smile on his face. He definitely looks like he’s enjoying himself, having Toni stare at him.

“Guess I should stop staring then,” Toni says, tugging Isco forward by the belt loops on his jeans. “Before your ego gets any bigger than it already is.”

Isco goes easily enough, making sure Toni stretches out along the long side of the couch, and he lies down on top of him.

“If you’re gonna send me flailing to the floor I’ll tell everyone about what a nerd you are,” he warns, a devilish smile on his face as he ducks his head. His lips find the spot on Toni’s collar bone where he was sucking on earlier.

“Joke’s on you,” Toni replies breathily, the skin around his collar bone tingling. “Everyone already knows that.”

He does tighten his arms around Isco’s waist, enjoying the weight on top of him and the lithe form of Isco’s body underneath his hands. Isco’s back is warm and smooth, and Toni lets his fingers curl around Isco’s hips.

“Caging me in, are you?” Isco says, bringing his head back up to look at Toni. Their groins are pressed together tightly like this, and there’s no way for either of them to hide their reaction to each other.

“Feels good like this,” Toni mumbles, pressing his lips against the point where Isco’s jaw meets his ear, and he goes further down, sucking Isco’s earlobe between his lips.

It makes Isco’s body stutter on top of him, pushing their cocks together through the thick fabric of their jeans. “Fuck, c-can I move?” Isco whines, holding onto Toni’s arms.

Toni answers by shoving his hips up, clearly feeling the outline of Isco’s hard cock against his own.

Isco swears, ducking his head and biting at Toni’s collar bone again as he moves his own hips, grinding Toni’s body down into the plush cushions of the couch. He goes at it with the teenage abandon Toni remembers himself having as well at that age. He’s pretty sure that getting off in any way is on the forefront of Isco’s brain right now, and damn, if it doesn’t transfer easily to his own.

And he really doesn’t care that he’s probably going to come in his pants, because Isco’s hips are grinding down on top of him with intent. All Toni can do is drag his hands down Isco’s back and pushing them in the back pockets of Isco’s jeans, squeezing his ass. It’s round and firm even through his pants and it sends Toni’s thoughts to unholy places.

“Jesus, fuck,” Isco grits out, panting. “Yes, yes.”

Toni can feel the slick of sweat on Isco’s forehead against the skin of his neck, and he bites down on the juncture at the top of his shoulder.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans against Isco’s skin, making it wet with his spit before he sucks on it.

If anything, Toni’s response only spurs Isco on and he’s scrambling one hand down Toni’s chest to tug at the buttons on their jeans. Toni can feel his cock pressing against the zipper, and lets out and honest-to-god sigh when Isco drags the zipper down.

He looks down and just the sight of Isco’s hard cock, barely covered by the flimsy fabric of his boxers makes Toni’s eyes glaze over. There’s a wet patch on the front and he wants to mouth at it, taste the salt of Isco’s pre-come.

His fingers tighten and he squeezes Isco’s ass, rubbing their cocks together. The sensations are heightened without the zippers between them, and he’s starting to see stars.

“Come on, come on,” Isco babbles, already teetering on the edge of orgasm if his blown black pupils are anything to go by.

Toni feels as if it’s going to be over embarrassingly fast, but it’s not that big of a surprise, when Isco has been all that he could think about while jerking off for the past few weeks. Reality beats imagination, that’s for damn sure.

Feeling bold and already fucked out of his mind, Toni tugs one of his hands out of the back pocket and pushes it underneath the waistband of Isco’s boxers.

“Oh God, fuck,” Isco moans, trying to press his lips against Toni’s but he’s uncoordinated, kissing him on the edge of his mouth as he pants his pleas softly. “Please, Toni, I’m gonna—”

Toni grabs the flesh of Isco’s ass tightly in his hand, shoving his hips up at the same time to increase the friction of both of their cocks. The thin sheen of sweat makes his grip on Isco’s ass cheek slip a little, his fingers dipping in the crease.

“Fuck,” Isco sobs, as Toni presses the tip of his index finger against his hole, a light pressure on the sensitive skin.

Toni feels Isco’s orgasm coming before his mind registers the situation, biting down on his lower lip as Isco jerks on top of him. Isco’s panting harshly, strung tight like a bow string as he comes, and sinking down after, sagging against Toni’s form. He’s muttering words that sound like Toni’s name, his fingers curled around the nape of Toni’s neck.

The wetness of Isco’s boxers seeps down through his own, making the grind slicker as Toni shoves his hips up repeatedly in the crease of Isco’s hipbone. It completely does it for him and he lets go, caging Isco’s body against his own as he comes with white streaks of come erupting between their bodies. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and tries to keep breathing as he slowly comes down from his orgasm.

Gradually the pinpoint of his focus broadens again, his chest still heaving with every pant that escapes his lips. He feels Isco’s warm body, lying limp in his arms and breathing just as fast. Then he notices the slickness on his stomach, the couch against his bare back, and the dimmed lights in the corners of the room.

His brain stops and starts for a few seconds until he realizes what just happened. _He had sex with Isco._ He feels goose bumps breaking out over his arms and a heavy feeling sinks in his gut.

“Stop it,” Isco mumbles sleepily, bringing his head back up to meet Toni’s eyes. He looks properly fucked-out, hair sticking out to all sides and a red flush spreading down from his cheeks to his chest. Toni doesn’t dare to look lower than that because he’s young, but not young enough to force his cock into getting hard again, which it will try if he looks lower.

“Stop what?” he whispers, his hand finding Isco’s hair and trailing through it.

Isco lays his head down on Toni’s chest, humming softly as Toni pets his hair. “I can basically hear that you’re beginning to freak out, and I want none of it,” he yawns.

“I’m an adult, it’s basically what we do,” Toni replies, letting his head settle against the cushions.

“It was going to happen anyway,” Isco says, his fingers trailing eights on Toni’s bare chest. “You don’t always have to be responsible.”

Toni smiles, closing his eyes. He lets himself enjoy Isco’s body on top of him, this time without the sharp edge of being turned on. Pressing a kiss to the top of Isco’s shoulder, he lifts his chest up by propping up his elbows underneath him.

Isco looks mildly annoyed, probably half off to sleep already. “Why are you moving? No moving.”

“We should shower,” Toni says, looking down at him with a fond smile.

“No shower,” Isco mumbles. “It’s nearly three in the morning, or something.”

“I’m not taking you to bed with both of us covered in come, Isco,” Toni says, sliding his hand down the back of Isco’s neck. “At least let me wipe your stomach down.”

Isco lifts his head and grins drowsily at him. “You’re taking me to bed? Such a gentleman.” He moves off of the couch, and Toni feels a flicker of pride when he sees Isco’s knees wobbling a bit.

Settling his hands on Isco’s shoulders, he slowly manoeuvers both of them to the bathroom, snatching two pairs of boxers from the basket with clean laundry. He grabs a white shirt from his closet for Isco to put on, and makes sure to wipe down his stomach with a warm washcloth. Isco’s sleepily rubbing at his eyes but he kisses him when Toni’s done. For all he cares, Toni is so down to do this every day.

They crawl underneath the covers together, Isco settling in underneath Toni’s arm. The weight of his head on Toni’s chest is becoming familiar already, and Toni knows he’s so fucking gone for him.

Just as he’s nearly drifting off to sleep, ready to let the comfortable darkness of his room drag him down, Isco mumbles something.

“Hm?” Toni asks.

“I said thank you for making that the best first time ever,” Isco replies, sounding dead to the world.

Toni chokes on his own spit, _first time?!_ “Isco,” he splutters, indignant. “You could’ve said so before I stuck my hand down your pants.”

“Nah,” is the only thing Isco says, before falling asleep then and there. “You would’ve been all shy about it.”

Toni sinks back down in the pillow, tucking Isco closer. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head at the ceiling. Now he’s really glad he didn’t push Isco up against the wall. What a first time that would’ve been.

 _Maybe next time, though_ , he thinks before he closes his eyes and drifts off.


	12. Leo III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leo's got 365 chances and he's not going to waste any of it

Leo blinks slowly, the sharp rays of sunlight calling him back to reality. There is a faint thudding against his temples as he tries to open his eyes again. He squeezes them shut, and turns around. His cheek hits something solid, and he peers between his eyelashes at Cristiano’s sleeping form next to him. And that, that’s quite a nice sight to wake up to, despite the headache trying to split his brain.

He brings his hand up and strokes the pads of his fingers along Cristiano’s collarbone. Cristiano hums softly, his nose crinkling a little. The corner of Leo’s mouth lifts.

Turning around in bed, messing up the sheets even more than they already are, he scrambles a hand around for his phone. His pants are on the floor and he manages to squeeze his phone out of the pocket. Lifting it up to his face, he shields his eyes from the bright light as he checks the time. It’s nearly eleven, and his gurgling stomach is telling him he should’ve eaten breakfast two hours ago.

“Cris,” he says softly, turning back around and poking a finger against Cristiano’s cheek. “Wake up.”

Cristiano grunts, eyelids fluttering briefly. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, voice hoarse from sleep.

“It’s eleven already.”

“I want to die.”                                               

“You can do that. Or, we can go get breakfast,” Leo suggests, scratching his stomach and wiggling his toes.

Cristiano reaches over, eyes still closed, and hooks an arm around Leo. He pulls him in and smothers Leo against his neck. “I don’t like you in the morning,” he says, his mouth against Leo’s hair.

Leo grins, wrestling himself out of Cristiano’s grip. “Come on, you lazy bastard. We can go get brunch at the country club. They have a mean English breakfast, I swear, you’ll find all the reasons to live.”

“It’s New Year’s day,” Cristiano says, opening his left eye at the mention of an English breakfast. “Is the country club even open? No one’s gonna play golf in this weather.”

“Golf court’s closed, but the restaurant is open. There’s an indoor swimming pool, too. It’s usually filled with seventy-year-olds but that might be the peace and quiet you need,” he teases, getting up on his knees on the bed. He grabs Cristiano’s hand and yanks him upwards.

“Leo!” Cristiano complains, but Leo stops him before he can fall back onto the bed.

“Someone can’t handle their drink,” Leo grins.

“No, some people just want to get a few hours of sleep without people yanking on their limbs,” Cristiano grumbles, but he sits sideways on the bed. He gets his shirt down from where it’s hung around one of the bedposts.

“Whatever, you know you love me,” Leo says, tugging his shorts over his ass and fixing the button. He mentally cheers at himself when Cristiano doesn’t correct him.

It takes a while before they’re fully dressed, because Cristiano’s hand-eye coordination isn’t really something to boast about in the morning. That, and they end up leaning against the door and making out for a bit, despite both of them having terrible breath.

They sneak down the stairs together, trying to be as quiet as possible. There are people asleep, spread out over the couches in the living room. Jesé is sleeping in the middle of the floor, his head propped up on a deflated football. There’s crinkled cups everywhere, and the punch bowl is turned upside down on Nacho’s head.

“I’m still pretty sure someone poisoned the punch,” Leo whispers to Cristiano in the hallway. They pull on their shoes, and bundle up in their scarves and coats.

“It tasted like pure vodka with just a pinch of strawberry,” Cristiano says, wincing at the memory of the strong drink. “We should have listened to Isco, he didn’t drink any of it.”

“The day we all start listening to Isco is the day the aliens will truly give up on humanity, Cris.”

-

They pull into the parking lot at the country club forty-five minutes later, the snow making it hard to see while driving. Leo jabs at the button, the windshield wipers shooting back and forth across the glass.

“Maybe if you didn’t—” Cristiano starts, but Leo cuts him off sharply.

“Shut up, Cris!” He’s had it up to _here_ with Cristiano’s know-it-all comments on his driving. “Next time you can drive, you dick.”

“Who says there’s going to be a next time? This is our first date, Leo. I know you don’t do this stuff quite often but people generally are a little nicer to each other,” Cristiano teases, his fingers tangling in Leo’s hair at the back of his neck.

“It’s not a date!” Leo bristles

Cristiano snorts. “It totally is.”

“It’s just two dudes… having brunch,” Leo says, and it sounds weak even to his ears.

Cristiano makes a show out of holding onto the door handle for dear life while Leo parks. Leo ignores him, because he can drive fine, okay?

They get out of the car and Leo grudgingly lets Cristiano tug him close for a second, returning the quick kiss. Cristiano might be a dick, but he’s Leo’s dick. _That sounds wrong._

The thick layer of snow has frozen to the stone steps up to the restaurant, and they barely make it through the doors without breaking their ankles. Of course, Leo can’t pass up on that opportunity to make a remark on Cristiano’s dainty little ankles.

Cristiano is still trying to push his wet, cold glove down the back of Leo’s coat when the waiter comes up to them.

“Hi Leo, happy new year,” Scott says, flashing him a smile. “Your folks still sleeping off the hangover?”

Leo shakes his head and grins. “No, just me today. And Cris,” he gestures to Cristiano. “We _are_ trying to recover from a hangover, though.”

“You know our orange juice works miracles,” Scott says solemnly before cracking a smile again. “Just pick whatever table you like, I think your family’s usual table is free.”

“Thanks, man,” Leo says, clapping Scott on the back. He turns his head to Cristiano and cocks it into the direction of the windows. “The table is right over there.”

They walk through the restaurant, which is indeed filled with bright-eyed seventy-year-old people who clearly had a good night of sleep. Leo feels like a wrung out dishcloth, and he tells Cristiano so after they’ve taken off their coats and settled into their chairs.

Cristiano laughs. “Me too. All because someone couldn’t let me sleep a little longer.”

“Wait and see,” Leo says, pointing his finger at Cristiano. “You catch a whiff of that breakfast and you’ll be nagging at me for not waking you up earlier.”

They both slump down a little in their chairs, lazily thumbing through the pages of the menu. Leo’s been coming here since he was a little boy, and he’s tasted everything from this menu at least once. Even the shrimps, which was a very traumatic experience for a five-year-old, mind you.

Cristiano holds up the menu in Leo’s face, pointing at something from the dinner section. “What’s that?”

“Horse,” Leo replies, grinning at Cristiano’s disgusted face. “It’s not that bad. I only had it once, because in French I told Mr. Ramos about it and he nearly started crying in front of the class.”

“Bullshit,” Cristiano laughs.

“I’m serious!” Leo presses. “The next detention I had after that he made all of us watch this horrifying documentary on the horse meat industry. He glared daggers at me throughout the entire thing, I swear.”

Cristiano laughs, shoulders shaking and resting his forehead on his fist. “Considering it’s Ramos, I can actually picture that to be true.”

They’re still laughing about it when Scott comes by to take their orders. Leo orders two English breakfasts for both of them, and snickers when he sees Cristiano’s eyes glaze over.

“Maybe I should’ve given you English breakfasts when we were younger,” he says, after Scott has jotted down their orders on his notepad and went to the next table. “It could’ve prevented the whole shit show between us.”

Cristiano smiles at him and shrugs. His hair is still curly and it flops a little with every move of his head. Leo wants to reach his arm over the table and trade his fingers through the strands.

“I don’t know, Leo. You were kind of a dick.” His eyes shimmer.

“Like you weren’t,” Leo huffs.

“And even then you couldn’t resist my dazzling handsomeness,” Cristiano teases, a cocky grin on his lips.

“I didn’t want to,” Leo says, _and okay, that came out way softer than he intended to._ He clears his throat, but he looks straight at Cristiano. “I just—We started this thing all wrong, didn’t we?”

“This thing?”

“You know, this,” Leo gestures between them. “When we started, I didn’t even admit to myself that I like guys. And all we did that summer came out of anger, and when the anger stopped, I didn’t want you to come close. So I pushed you away. That’s, erm, not a really good start.”

Leo is still looking at the patterns on the edge of his plate, cheeks flaming. He starts a little when Cristiano takes hold of his hand, and he looks up.

“It’s okay, Lionel,” Cristiano says.

Leo pulls a face. “You never call me Lionel. I’m two seconds away from bolting through that door in shame, don’t make it worse!”

Cristiano laughs. It’s his soft laugh, the one that pinches his eyes shut and crinkles his eyebrows. “Okay, sorry. I won’t call you Lionel. I’m just trying to tell you that it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re trying right now, aren’t you? You’re still keeping a death grip on my hand, if anything.”

“Sorry,” Leo says sheepishly, releasing Cristiano’s fingers and rubbing his thumb along the knuckles. “I am. You know, trying.”

“Exactly,” Cristiano states. “This stuff takes time when you figure it out on your own. It’s even trickier when being into a guy makes you find out in the first place. Give yourself a little credit, Leo.”

“Who says I’m into you?” Leo hums, but his smile betrays him.

“Whatever,” Cristiano says, looking away from him to see Scott approaching with their food. “You know you love me.”

Leo grins when Cristiano repeats his own words from earlier that morning. He sends the goofy smile to Scott as he places his steaming plate with food right in front of him.

“Someone’s happy to see their breakfast,” Scott comments, but he grins between Leo and Cristiano with a knowing look. “Good luck.”

Leo doesn’t know if Scott means ‘Good luck with the food’ or ‘Good luck with Cristiano’. It’s probably both, he figures. Anyone in their right mind would need luck to handle Cristiano. It’s a good thing Leo is never in his right mind when it comes to him.

“So,” Cristiano says, chewing on a bite noisily.

Leo gives him a deadpan glare. “I thought we talked about your eating, Cris.”

Cristiano swallows and makes a face at Leo. “Uptight. Anyway, I was thinking.”

“English breakfasts truly possess the power to perform miracles.”

“Leo!” Cristiano stares at him with big eyes.

Leo snickers and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He folds his hands on the tablecloth. “What were you thinking about?”

Cristiano looks like he’s thinking about not saying anything, _just because_. He does, however, and says: “First of all, you can say no. I’m not gonna push you into anything or whatever. But, erm, my mom and dad always hold this big dinner on New Year’s day. It’s a family thing, my grandparents will be there and a few other relatives. If you want, you could join?”

Leo chokes on his glass of orange juice, and feels his cheeks turning red behind his napkin as he tries to clean himself up.

“I can see your jubilance. Don’t worry, it’s fine. Shouldn’t have asked so fast,” Cristiano says, smiling, but Leo can see a shade of disappointment in his eyes.

“That wasn’t me saying no,” he hastily says. “I, just… that’s a lot. Give me some time to think about it?”

“Of course, but don’t feel pressured, ‘kay?” Cristiano says, obnoxiously chewing on his croissant.

“I won’t,” Leo says, over the sound of Cristiano’s loud scrunching.

-

It starts with Cristiano pushing a handful of snow down his neck, and it continues with Leo chasing him over the empty golf court.

“Just admit, your little legs can’t keep up!” Cristiano yells, the sound of his voice dragged away in the wind. It’s blowing harsh and cold over the flowing landscape.

Leo’s lungs are burning with the freezing air he’s breathing in and out, and his eyes are watering. Cristiano definitely has the advantage with his longer legs, but Leo isn’t one to quit.

The snow on his back has melted, the fabric of his shirt wetly sticking to his shoulders. His shoes are slipping over the frozen ground and his arms are wildly whipping around to make sure he keeps his balance.

He’s happy. He’s just so goddamn happy, chasing this big idiot around on a golf court, with his stomach full of food, and a headache that’s still continuing its party inside his skull. It doesn’t matter, because he feels a million pounds lighter than last year.

It’s not his thing to get sentimental over the start of a new year. He never felt any significance about New Year’s day, other than the reminder that he’s probably going to write the date wrong on the first few tests after the break. He rolls his eyes at the girls in his class who doodle inspirational quotes on their notebooks about 365 new chances. Time is just time, after all. It passes with the same pace, continuously, without fail. Any day could be the day of the new year.

But right now, he gets it. He gets why New Year’s day is a thing. Because right there, in front of him, with his stupid flopping curls, is Cristiano. And today he gets the first of the 365 new chances that have been given to him. He’s not going to waste them by hiding his feelings any longer. He’s going to fucking feel everything and not be ashamed.

Cristiano will say it’s because he’s a bad loser, but Leo will say that it’s the realization that made him trip and fall.

His feet fly out from under him and suddenly he’s on his back, sliding down the hill. The throbbing in his head grows louder and the body that lands on top of him means that he’s taken Cristiano out as well. He’ll count that as a win.

“You fucker,” Cristiano breathes heavy, laughter bubbling up from the back of his throat. “I could’ve broken my back.”

“Then I would push your wheelchair for the rest of the school year,” Leo pants, resting the back of his head in the snow. The cold does wonders for his headache. His pants are wet and he’s pretty sure he can wring drops of water out of his socks.

Cristiano turns slightly, his face coming in Leo’s view. “That’s surprisingly sweet, coming from the person who just tackled me. You’d get a red in a game for that, you know?”

“Maybe,” Leo smiles lazily.

There’s fond confusion in Cristiano’s eyes. “You okay down there? I think you look a little hazy.”

“I think that you should get down here and kiss me,” Leo replies, bringing his hand up and curling it around the back of Cristiano’s neck.

Cristiano hisses at the freezing cold hand in his neck and Leo laughs. “That’s what you get, fucker,” he whispers, before pulling Cristiano down on top of him.

Cristiano’s lips are wet and cold, but Leo barely feels it. All he notices is the weight of Cristiano’s body pressing down on his, and the warm bursts of breath on his cheek. His fingers are numb and he presses them in the wool of Cristiano’s coat, holding him tighter against him.

“You run like an idiot,” he murmurs against Cristiano’s lips.

Cristiano’s breathy laugh warms him up from the inside out. “You’re just saying that because you couldn’t keep up.”

They lie there for another few minutes, kissing, until the whipping cold of the wind and the snow nearly turns their lips blue. They keep each other up as they hobble back to the car, limbs frozen.

Leo grabs a blanket out of the trunk and makes sure Cristiano’s all wrapped up in the passenger’s seat. He turns the heat on to the max, and feels around his chair with his hand for his football bag.

Cristiano helps him drag the bag to the front and they find a semi-clean pair of training pants. At least it’s dry.

“Put them on,” Cristiano says, teeth chattering as he ducks his head underneath the blanket to blow some warm air into it.

“We’re in the parking lot,” Leo replies, slightly scandalized. “I’m not changing my pants here.”

“No one’s here,” Cristiano says, rolling his eyes and leaning over to pull at Leo’s soaked pants.

Under normal circumstances, Leo would be all for getting hot and heavy with Cristiano in a car, but he’s pretty sure his dick is frozen right now. He lets Cristiano help him and he changes into the soft, dry training pants within record time.

Once they’re back on one of the bigger roads, Leo lets the car speed up a bit. He flexes his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to get the blood flowing again. Looking sideways, Cristiano’s leaning against the window with his eyes closed.

Leo presses his lips together, flexes his fingers some more, and clears his throat. “So,” he says, and he can’t believe he makes that sound awkward already.  But, it’s a new year and he’s got 365 chances.

“About your family dinner tonight,” he continues. Cristiano opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. “If we’re going to go, what would you introduce me as?”

“Leo Messi?” Cristiano replies, looking strangely at him. “Did the ice do something to your brain? Do you know when you were born?”

Leo rolls his eyes. “No, I know what my name is, dammit. But like, if we’re going together…” He makes some motions with his hand to convey his general idea.

Cristiano groans and grabs Leo’s hand, just because, he can? He holds onto it as he says: “Use your words, Leo. What do you mean and what do you want?”

“I, erm,” Leo makes a show out of watching the rear-view mirror, “I’d like to be there, you know, officially.”

He can feel Cristiano’s gaze on him and he quickly looks sideways, meeting his eyes. Apparently Cristiano knows him well enough to get it. Leo hopes he’s not going to be a tease about it and make him say it first.

And for once in his life, Cristiano doesn’t.

“You want me to introduce you as my boyfriend?”

Leo’s breath hitches and he focuses his eyes on the car in front of him. He nods. “Yeah, I… Yeah.”

A rush of warmth goes down his spine when Cristiano leans over and kisses him on his cheekbone. “If you’re sure you’re ready, then of course I’d want to introduce you as my boyfriend.”

“Maybe, like, we actually tell your mom and dad? And if the rest of the family asks about it, we don’t deny it?” Leo suggests.

He hears Cristiano clearing his throat beside him, and it takes a few seconds of silence before Cristiano says, softly: “I’m really proud of you, Leo.”

Leo brings Cristiano’s hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers.

They stay like that for a while, driving in peaceful silence while the wind flies up the snow around the car.

They’re in front of a red light at the edge of town when Cristiano’s phone goes off.

“It’s Isco,” Cristiano says, and he answers the phone on speaker. “Hey, man, how are you? Me and Leo couldn’t find you at Jesé’s place this morning.”

“Cris!” Isco’s yell is shrill and tinny through the speaker. “I did something dumb! Or not, I don’t know!”

Cristiano sends Leo a confused look and Leo shrugs. He doesn’t know what kind of weird shit Isco gets up to ninety percent of the time.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Cristiano asks.

There’s a long string of rambling, followed by the sound of things falling over, and overall gibberish from Isco’s mouth.

“Isco, I can’t hear you,” Cristiano enunciates slowly. “There’s a fucking blizzard outside, speak clearly.”

“I GOT WITH TONI LAST NIGHT!” Isco’s scream is loud and clear.

Startled, Leo squashes his foot down on the gas pedal and the car flies forward. He pulls the breaks a bit and whips his head around to gape at Cristiano.

“Toni Kroos?” Cristiano asks, looking faint and closing his eyes in preparation.

“Which other Toni is there, Cris?!” Isco sounds like his panic levels are going into overdrive. “Of course it’s Toni Kroos! I went over to his place yesterday, well, technically today, and we, you know, got it on!”

And… _No._ Leo does _not_ know?

“You got with a teacher?” he exclaims. _Wow, who knew his voice could still go that high?_

“Leo?” Isco asks. “Cris! Don’t put me on the goddamn speaker when other people are around!”

Cristiano looks five seconds away from jumping out of the car. “Christ—Isco, just calm down, okay? We can’t talk like this. Are you at home, ‘cause me and Leo just drove into down and we can drop by.”

“Leo can’t witness my freak-outs yet, he hasn’t earned it!” Isco sounds hysterical. “He’s not even your boyfriend yet, Cris.”

“He is,” Cristiano says, “and we’re coming over. Go get some of my dry clothes from the closet in the meantime. And don’t drink Redbull!”

“You know that’s my panic drink, Cris! And why are you wet? Did you guys get up to something nasty? You did, right, you two always do. Since when are you even boyfriends?”

“I’ll see you in five,” Cristiano says sternly, and he ends the call. He falls back into his chair and breathes out.

Leo stares at the road in front of him, his brain going fifty miles per second. “He got with a teacher?” he asks weakly.

Cristiano sighs, shaking his head. “Apparently he did. Jesus. I mean, yeah, I knew Isco was fucking gone for him since the first day. He hasn’t shut up about him since Toni gave him his first detention of the year. I didn’t know Toni felt the same.”

“Does he?” Leo asks sternly. “I mean, he’s his teacher! What if he’s just taking advantage of Isco’s crush on him?”

Cristiano shakes his head. “He’s not. You’re right, Toni is his teacher, but they were way more than just a student and a teacher from the get go. They’ve been friends for months now. I’m pretty sure he knows what’s going on with Isco right now better than I do. I’ve been kinda neglecting him, y’know, because of all the stuff that’s been happening between you and me.”

“Just because they were friends from the start of the year doesn’t mean Toni still isn’t taking advantage of Isco right now. Maybe he wants Isco to come to him, now that you’re busier,” Leo says, frowning a little. “I’m just saying, Cris. Isco’s a strong-willed person who knows what he wants. But he’s still just eighteen like us.”

“I know, I know,” Cristiano says, pressing the palms of his hands against his forehead. “I just thought they’d wait until the year was over. We only have like three more months left, less even, because of the exams.”

Leo is still feeling apprehensive by the time they pull into the driveway at Isco’s. Cristiano unfolds himself from the blanket and they get out of the car, walking up the porch.

Isco looks like he slept all of ten minutes last night, _and no, Leo does not want to think about that._

“Don’t judge me, you were hate-fucking my best friend the whole summer!” are the words Isco yells in lieu of a greeting. Leo’s got to admit, he has a point there.

Cristiano lets go of an ever-suffering sigh and steers Isco to the couch. “Sit here and think. Me and Leo are going to change.”

“Don’t do anything nasty in my room,” Isco shouts after them as they walk up the stairs.

-

It’s pretty clear to Leo that he’s the mom-friend in this scenario. And Isco can get lost, because they’re totally friends, even though they can hardly stand being around each other long than twenty minutes.

But while Isco is telling the story of what happened last night, with a little extra clarifications of what happened throughout the year for Leo, all Leo can think is that Isco probably needs a hug. And a very stern talking to.

“Why didn’t you tell me you kissed him at the winter formal?” Cristiano asks, looking offended.

Isco gestures between Cristiano and him. “Pot, kettle, black. You didn’t tell me you were sucking face with him all throughout the summer. I had to find out on my own.”

Leo grimaces. “We weren’t ‘sucking face’, okay? What are you, thirteen?”

“Guys, come on?” Cristiano says, pushing Isco back when it looks like he wants to charge at Leo like a bull. A very tiny bull, but still. Leo appreciates Cristiano acting as a buffer here.

“Your boyfriend shouldn’t be so judgey, okay?” Isco mumbles, visibly deflating a little bit. He turns towards Leo. “You think that I don’t know that this is fucked up? It is. But it’s also really fucking simple at the same time. I like Toni, I think that the sun shines out of his ass. He likes me, because I’m occasionally tolerable when I’m around him. He didn’t make the first move. It was always me. I kissed him first, I told him that I liked him first, I asked if I could come over _first_. He didn’t pressure me into anything, and if he’d tried, I would make Cristiano kick his dick off,” he turns back to Cristiano. “Wouldn’t I do that, huh?”

Cristiano looks at Leo and shrugs. “He would.”

“Exactly,” Isco continues, “And I didn’t ask Cristiano here to tell me how stupid I am, and you, I didn’t ask here in the first place. All I want is some advice, okay? Because there’s still three months of school left, and now that I actually one hundred percent know that Toni’s really gone for me, I need to know what to do next.”

“Well,” Cristiano says, carefully, “Your impulse control really isn’t something to write home about. Hell, you spent most of the year in his classroom even though you only have one class with him. If you want this to fly under the radar of everyone, you’ll need to back off.”

Isco bites down on his lower lip. “I guess? But I just… I know this sounds cheesy as shit, okay, but I like him. I want to be around him. The last thing I want is to avoid him. You two get what that feels like, right?”

“We do,” Leo says, trying to come off as non-hostile as he can before Isco sets off again. “And I guess that the six year age difference isn’t that bad. My parents have an age gap of ten years, and no one thinks that’s weird. If you say that there’s no fucked-up power difference between you two, then me and Cris believe you, right?”

He looks at Cristiano, and Cristiano nods, looking at him with an encouraging smile. Even Isco seems to think Leo has something useful to say.

“So what I’m trying to get at, is that you and Toni could perfectly be dating each other in real life. You two aren’t the kind of student-teacher couple that show up on the Dr. Phil show. But if you want that normal relationship, _no one can know_ ,” Leo stresses. “If the wrong person finds out, this will blow up in both of your faces. Toni will be fired, he’ll probably get a criminal record because you’re still underage for the law, and every chance at something more with him will be shot out the window.”

Isco’s still biting on his lower lip, and he falls back against the pillows. “I guess you’re right,” he mumbles.

“What?” Leo asks, leaning forward. Just because he’s sensible doesn’t mean he’s still not kind of a dick.

“You’re right, you fucker,” Isco says louder. “If you make me say it again I won’t follow any of your great advice just to spite you.”

“You’ll only be shooting yourself in the foot if you do that,” Cristiano says, and he leans over to ruffle Isco’s hair. “Just three more months, buddy. Tell Toni, call him up tonight or tomorrow, and wait it out. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“This sucks,” Isco announces. “I only got to touch his dick once and now I have to stop again. We were supposed to become best pals.”

Both Leo and Cristiano groan. “TMI, dude,” Leo complains, a pained expression on his face.

“I’m going to call Toni right away, and a lot of manly tears will be shed, so I’m not sure you guys wanna stick around for that,” Isco says, standing up from the couch.

“You’re going to do it now?” Cristiano asks, tugging Leo up from the chair.

Isco shrugs. “If I don’t do it now I’ll just change my mind.”

“Alright,” Cristiano nods, “Get in here.” He hugs Isco tightly for a second, before reaching out his arm and beckoning Leo closer.

“No,” Leo and Isco both say.

“Come on,” Cristiano says, pouting a little. “We’re all in this together now, right?”

Leo rolls his eyes. Cristiano is lucky he’s so pretty. He lets himself be tugged into the hug. He doesn’t even roll his eyes when Isco stands on his toes to be bigger than him. The guy’s got it harder than him right now, so Leo will give it to him. After all, he’s the one who’s actually got a boyfriend now.


End file.
